


Elio and the Order of the Peaches

by ennathecookiemonster



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Art, Crossover, Drunken Flirting, Eventual Sex, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Obsessed Teenager, Professor - Freeform, Romance, Sensuality, Slow Burn, Swearing, Teasing, professor/student, student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-05-01 05:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennathecookiemonster/pseuds/ennathecookiemonster
Summary: "Elio. Elio Perlman.""Nice to meet you, Elio. I'm Oliver."Elio narrowed his eyes. "Just Oliver? Isn't that a bit...unprofessional?"Oliver chuckled. "If you feel uncomfortable calling me by my first name, you can of course just call me Professor...but you would be the only one in this class."Elio has studied at several wizarding schools in Europe already. But when his father gets a job offer from the University of Cambridge, Elio has to spend the last two years of his studies at Hogwarts. And while the school itself is ordinary at most, one art history teacher is anything but...AU: Post-Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall as Headmistress





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there :)
> 
> This is an AU in which Elio is a student at Hogwarts and Oliver the art history teacher. There will be some magic, obviously, and the story sort of follows the main events of the CMBYN film. I didn't read the book, so there might be some deviations when it comes to the characters' feelings and actions.
> 
> Elio is still 17 in this story, so underage, while Oliver is around 30.
> 
> This is my first Fanfiction on archiveofourown and English is not my mother language, so if you find any spelling/grammar mistakes, feel free to tell me.
> 
> Any kind of Feedback is always appreciated,
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CMBYN or Harry Potter characters nor do I make any money of this.)

Chapter 1

“Hogwarts. One of the oldest and well-renowned schools for wizards and witches. Hogwarts has been home to some of the most brightest and famous minds of the whole world… They don’t particularly spare with compliments, do they?” Elio said and scrunched his nose at the paper in his hands.

Mr. Perlman looked at him through the rear mirror. A faint smile was playing on his lips and he seemed amused with his son’s demeanour. “Shouldn’t you know that thing by heart by now?”

But Elio didn’t pay any attention to him.

“Just listen to this!”, he continued to read from the paper: “…home to some of the most brightest and famous minds of the world, like Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, awarded order of Merlin first class, blah blah blah, later on Headmaster of Hogwarts. Survivor and defeater of Lord Voldemort: Harry Potter, as well as current Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger.” He shook his head. “The list goes on and on. But not a word mentioned about the fact that they also educated Voldemort.”

“Well, who would write that into an info letter?” His mother chuckled. “Come, give that to me. You’ve done enough complaining.”

“I’m not complaining! I’m just…analytical. That’s all.”

Mrs. Perlman rolled her eyes at him. “Just wait and see. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.”

“I wasn’t saying it’s bad.” Elio mumbled, as he looked out of the car window and watched the passing traffic. London was just as grey and rainy and full of people as he had expected it to be. It didn’t do much to lift his already bad mood.

“He’s just scared that his nose will be running for the next two years.” Mr. Perlman grinned, as he pulled onto the parking area of the Londoner train station.

Elio snorted. “Yeah, right. You do realize that you could be sending me to the outmost part of Scotland? Where ever that blasted school even lies.”

“Oh, darling.” His mother sighed and tousled his curly dark hair. “I’m sure, there will be enough going on inside the school to let you forget about the bad weather. And it’s only two more years after all.”

Elio hummed half-hearted. He knew he had to stop with all the complaining. He could already see the first signs of worry in his mother’s eyes, although she knew just as much as he did that there was really no reason to worry about him. Elio wasn’t afraid of starting at a new school or making new friends. He had never been angry that they were moving around so much. The career of his father had given him the opportunity to experience growing up in many different cultures and it certainly was nothing he regretted. But as exciting the opportunity of his father teaching and researching at the University of Cambridge had sounded in the beginning, Elio still found it rather difficult to feel at home in England. Hogwarts itself sounded exciting, of course, but just the thought of its location, somewhere in Scotland, made his stomach turn.

“I guess, I just have to learn how to forget about Italy.” He sighed, when they came to a halt and he climbed out of the car. Mrs. Perlman put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him with her, while his father loaded his case and owl onto a cart.

“You are just idealizing it, dear. And it’s about the school anyway, isn’t it? Just think about all the new friends you are going to make! And all the different subjects! They even offer an art history class! Remember you were all excited about that?”

Elio had to admit the thought about an art history class in a school where everything else revolved entirely around magic sounded great, to say the least. In his last school in Italy the closest thing to “arts” had been an extracurricular choir course. Which had only been for girls. Yes, art history classes sounded like heaven in comparison.

“So, where is that entrance?” Mr. Perlman asked aloud what they were all thinking, when they arrived at the platform. He was a muggle, just as his wife. But the two, being historians and thus curious about everyone and everything, had quickly come to learn everything about the wizarding world. For a few years now it had been tradition that Elio would send them as many books about magic as he could get his hands on. But now that they were standing on the platform between nine and ten, he was just as lost as they were.

“It says to go through the hidden gate between platform nine and ten.” His mother read from the paper.

“Well, there’s just a wall!” Mr. Perlman huffed.

“Dear, shouldn’t you know by now that in Elio’s world, nothing is as it seems?” Mrs. Perlman walked passed him and curiously searched the wall. And to their collective astonishment, her hand disappeared right through the bricks. “I am brilliant.” She whispered to herself, before she turned around and waved the two men over to her. “Come on, now! Or Elio’s going to miss his train!”

Mr. Perlman shook his head in admiration. “That woman.”

He pushed the cart towards the wall and Elio followed, suddenly feeling much more light-hearted than before.

Going through the secret passage was like stepping through any ordinary door, with the only exception that in one moment Elio was marching straight ahead into a wall of bricks and in the next moment he was standing on a different platform. His eyes immediately landed on a scarlet-red locomotive that was blowing thick clouds of white steam into the air. A dizzying amount of people in strange robes and with wands and owl-cages in their hands were swarming the platform like excited bees, and although Elio had felt rather depressed only minutes ago, he could no longer fight the rising excitement in his stomach at the sight of all the wizards and witches around him. Finally, there was some real anticipation for the new school. Maybe this was a new country, a new school, a new chapter in his life. But it was still his world. A world full of magic. He turned to his parents and smiled, because for the first time in weeks he had the feeling that the last two years of school could actually turn out to be quite interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Chapter 2

As Elio had expected, Hogwarts was indeed quite different to any of the other wizarding schools he had attended in the past. While it did lie way up in the north of Scotland, was made of rough stone and looked rather imposing and repellent from outside with its high walls and many towers, that didn’t keep Elio from feeling at home the second he stepped foot into it. Everywhere seemed to be light. Huge window panes ran along the outer hallways and where natural light was not enough, an infinite amount of torches, candles and chandeliers enlightened the corridors. The first days after his arrival Elio spent most of his free time with simply wandering through the countless hallways that made the castle more labyrinth than school, and looked at the many paintings that framed the walls. It reminded him of the Alhambra he had visited with his parents a few years ago. Endless corridors made of stone, bearing so many wonders to stare at. Well, if you had the chance to actually take it all in. Where it had been tourists at the Alhambra who had robbed Elio of his last nerve, at Hogwarts it were the students chasing each other about the corridors. And if it weren’t students, there always was the risk of being disturbed by one of the castle’s ghosts. The most bothersome being Peeves. But even with all the hectic and loud residents of the school, Elio had to admit he liked it. He didn’t love it yet, but it was way better than he had expected.

On his first day, he had been sorted into one of the four houses, Gryffindor, and the people were bearable. A bit too upbeat and energetic for his liking, but definitely better than those he had seen in Slytherin. He had even made some friends already. Murray, one of the chasers in the Gryffindor Quidditch-Team, had taken it upon him to show Elio around and introduce him to everyone. Although Elio wasn’t really keen on all the Quidditch-talk he had to suffer through when being in Murray’s company, he appreciated the introduction to Murray’s circle of friends. Most of them were girls and to his relief, they did not talk about Quidditch non-stop. Rather, they were interested in everything he could tell them about Southern Europe, which he did, because he liked the attention.

“But how come you’re not more sun-tanned?”

“Oh, don’t be so superficial, Amanda! It’s just his natural skin colour! Is it true that it can get to up to fifty degrees in the shadows in summer?”

“In how many countries have you lived so far?”

“What exactly is it that your parents do?”

Elio knew it was only natural that their fascination with him would cease after a while, but until then he enjoyed being welcomed into his new house with so much interest. School itself was alright too. While the most subjects were overall quite similar to those he had been taught in before, what really excited him were the elective classes. In music class he could get his hands on actual muggle instruments. While the others fought over the magical instruments, Elio claimed an acoustic guitar and a dusty piano his own. And what excited him even more was that he had access to the room outside of class too and therefore could play some music in his free time whenever he wanted. But as intriguing as music class was, as disappointing was the course he had been rooting for the whole summer.

Art history, usually his favourite subject in his free time and the few other schools he had had the chance to take it in, turned out to be a major let-down. And that was all because of one person.

Oliver.

Oliver was the only other person next to Elio, who the girls talked about the whole week and at first Elio didn’t quite understand why. Until he sat in class and watched him stroll in.

“He is so handsome!” Amanda whispered under her breath. “He’s American, you know. He only arrived in June of last year. He’s filling in for Professor Belmor, our actual art history teacher. He’s doing some research this year, so we have Oliver instead. And he is…so…handsome!”

He was handsome, that much Elio had to admit. 6’5’’ tall, blond, a smile that revealed shiny white teeth and apparently the only reason, why three quarters of the course had chosen the class. Elio didn’t need long to figure out that most of his classmates were not interested in the course at all, but only in the teacher. And the way the American responded to the thirsty looks he was receiving, was enough to make Elio want to leave immediately. He wasn’t just acknowledging them, he was encouraging them, flirting with the female students even. In contrast to most other teachers he didn’t wear a robe, but a big blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons undone. There was a casualness emanating from him that did not fit at all to everything else Elio had seen so far of Hogwarts.

“I see we have a new face. Why don’t you introduce yourself?” The American asked, as he sat down on the edge of his desk and everyone turned their head to look at Elio. Elio kept his gaze firmly on the teacher.

“Elio. Elio Perlman.”

“Nice to meet you, Elio. I’m Oliver.”

Elio narrowed his eyes. “Just Oliver?”

“Just Oliver, yes.”

“Isn’t that a bit…unprofessional?” Elio challenged.

Oliver chuckled and Elio felt the hairs in his neck stand up. He immediately knew he didn’t like him. Everything about him screamed American. But especially his nonchalant aura did not sit well with Elio. How was that man supposed to teach him about art history? He looked like someone who spent more time in front of a mirror or in the arms of a woman rather than brooding over history books and art works.

“If you feel uncomfortable calling me by my first name, you can of course just call me Professor.” Oliver grinned. “But you would be the only one in this class.”

Elio leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I don’t mind, Professor.”

Oliver cocked an eyebrow. “Whatever suits you, Mr. Perlman… Whatever suits you. Now” he turned back to the rest of the class “if I assume correctly then our literature this year is at least two hundred years old, isn’t it?”

Elio watched him pick up one of the student’s book and turn some of the pages, without really looking at them.

“Any suggestions where to start?”

Oliver’s teaching style was just as different as his outer appearance. Not only was he unprepared, but he also made no notes whatsoever on the blackboard. Instead he just sat on his desk for the whole two hours and let the class decide, which part of art history they wanted to discuss. Elio felt betrayed. Here he was, sitting in one of the only two courses he had been looking forward to the whole summer and the incompetent teacher threatened to destroy everything. He couldn’t even spend the time fooling around with his new friends, because they all hung on Oliver’s lips as though he was the most interesting person in the world. Which of course he was not. He was unbearable. But apparently that needed a male brain to understand.

“He is so amazing!” Amanda sighed two hours later, when they were having lunch in the Great Hall and Charlotte nodded enthusiastically.

Elio snorted. “If you like arrogant Americans, yeah.”

“Oh bugger of! You’re just jealous.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I mean, have you looked at him? He is so tall and handsome and...”

Elio decided to just stop listening to her and turned to the only girl in his new circle of friends who so far had not said a single word about the art history teacher.

Marzia.

She was a French girl, who had switched from Beaubatonx to Hogwarts two years ago and in contrast to her friends she seemed to be not quite as fazed by the pretty Professor.

“What do you think about him?”

Marzia shrugged. “He’s alright.”

“Alright.” Elio repeated and shot a glance to teacher’s table at the end of the hall, where Oliver was talking to Professor Longbottom. “Alright…I can live with that.”

Marzia nudged him in the shoulder. “Come on, he’s really not that bad. Stop thinking about him already.”

“I’m not thinking about him.”

“Of course you are. You’re making as much a fuss about him as the others are.”

“I certainly am not! I’m just…I mean, can you believe it? The way he talks to us? In this…casual manner? Like we’re all friends?”

“So what? I like his classes.”

Elio shook his head. “Just the way he said goodbye to us. Like he has to show he is so much cooler than all the other teachers. Cooler than any of us. ‘Later’. Later. Who says that anyway?”

Marzia stared at him in amusement. “I don’t know. Americans, I guess? What is your problem with him?”

Elio kept staring at the teacher’s table as he answered. “Everything.”

As though he had heard him, Oliver turned his head and their eyes met. Elio felt his cheeks redden with anger as the teacher only smirked at him and then, as though Elio wasn’t worth the attention, turned back to Professor Longbottom. Elio directed his gaze at the sandwich on his plate. Yes, he hated everything about this teacher. Everything. From his horrid way of teaching to that godforsaken smile that made Elio’s stomach churn in a way he could only interpret as disgust. But the thing that made him even angrier was the fact that Marzia was right. Why was he even caring so much? He didn’t like half of the teachers so far. Some of them were just plain out boring, but he didn’t complain about them, did he now? Oliver in turn… Just the thought of him stirred a fire on his insides that he could not extinguish. Elio shook his head. He really had to care less.

So that’s what he did. In the next art history lesson he decided that if Oliver could do casual, so could he. Instead of sitting next to Marzia, as he did in most classes by now, he took a seat in the very back, far away from all the girls who were fighting for the best seats in the first row. He slipped out of his uniform robes and, not even bothering to take out his notes, he propped his feet up on the table, crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for the bloody American to arrive already.

“Mornin’ class!” Oliver’s voice boomed through the door and all heads except Elio’s turned to watch him stride into the room. Elio raised his chin expectantly, when Oliver turned at the front, but to his surprise Oliver’s eyes lingered only for a moment on him in the back, before he broke into one of his charming smiles and asked: “How’s everyone doing?”

And class started like everything was normal. Elio felt his ears burn with humiliation at being just outright ignored like this. Not only did Oliver not seem to care about his improper behaviour, but none of his friends seemed to notice either. Their attention was glued to Oliver like flies to candy. Elio had the growing, dreadful suspicion that this was going to be the normal state of this class. Either he would have to fall under the professor’s charm like everyone else or he had to bear being ignored by everyone. If Elio hated one thing then it was being ignored. And so, against his own plans, he started to listen.

“…good or bad. You are right, a four year old could have sculptured that, but would he have been able to sculpture it with the same feelings in his mind when doing so? With the same emotions? No, of course not! Just look at these curves and never ending lines. If there is anything we call beautiful then it is something like this.”

“I disagree.”

The discussion in the front of the classroom quieted down and everybody turned to look at Elio.

“Pardon me?” Oliver asked.

Elio allowed himself a short moment of inner victory, before he repeated: “I disagree.”

Oliver crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Then please, enlighten us, Perlman.”

“Well, you can’t just reduce beauty to some attributes like that. In the end beauty always lies in the eyes of the beholder.”

“Clarify.” Oliver demanded.

Elio took his feet off the table and pointed towards the copy of a sculpture that was standing on Oliver’s desk.

“Well, just because it has certain attributes that you might find beautiful in other art, it doesn’t mean, the thing itself really is beautiful. Because what more is art than the meaning that we, the audience, the viewer, the listener, give it? It’s just an object without our senses to respond to it. An object can’t be beautiful in itself. We are the ones who give meaning to it. And as we all respond different to art, you can’t just generalize and say this and that is beautiful to everyone.”

To say that Elio was satisfied with the dumbfounded reaction of his classmates, was an understatement. He was glowing with pride. There they had it, he knew just as much about art as that so called teacher. But if he had expected a similar reaction from Oliver, he was mistaking.

“Well, well, well.” Oliver said and the sounds of his hands applauding Elio was thrown back loudly from the walls of the classroom. “That was quite an argument you made there, Perlman. I’m impressed.” It didn’t sound at all as if he was impressed. Rather he was mocking Elio with that smug grin on his face and Elio could feel his ears begin to burn. “Please, do tell us more.”

Elio leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. That was all.”

Oliver cocked a brow. “Was it?”

“Yes, Sir.” Elio said and he slurred the ‘sir’ as much as possible.

“Too bad, we could have really used your input in this discussion.”

Elio felt the self-satisfied expression drop from his face at the sudden change in Oliver’s tone. Because this time he did sound genuine. And finally, Elio understood why all the others craved his attention so much. There was something in the way Oliver looked at people. As if he was not just looking, but really seeing them. As though he actually cared about what they were thinking, feeling even.

Elio felt his throat dry up. But before he could give in to the invitation, Oliver moved on.

“Anyway, back to tracks. Patricia, why don’t you give us your interpretation of the piece?”

Elio slumped back into his chair and he could not stop himself from feeling disappointed, as the discussion moved on without him. For a short moment he had felt like this class might have been exactly what he had been expecting of it and more. A place of thoughtful, challenging discussion, where he could shine in front of the others. And then, for some reason he could not explain, he had missed that chance. But he was no one to give up and so he stayed behind when the doorbell rang, with the intention to finish his argument.

“Something I can help you with, Perlman?”

“Yes, about the sculpture-”

“So, now you do have something else to say, huh?” Oliver interrupted him. Amused, he shook his head and walked past him towards the door. “It’s lunch time, Perlman. Go get something to eat, you look like you could need it.”

“But Sir, I-”

“Later!”

Elio felt his jaw drop, when Oliver just walked out the door, leaving him standing alone in the classroom, his sentence hanging unfinished in the air. Something told him that this was a word he was going to hear a lot from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like? Don't like? Please leave a comment :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for all your kind comments!!! They mean the world to me! I am really excited about this story and I'm glad you enjoy it too :) 
> 
> I plan to structure the story episodic, like the film, concentrating more on Elio and Oliver and not so much on the whole context around it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 3

“Ah, so good of you to join us, Mr. Perlman.”

Elio just gave an unidentifiable sound when everybody watched him enter the classroom and fell into the seat right next to Marzia.

“Where have you been?”, she hissed. “You missed the best part!”

“The best part, huh? Can’t imagine what that must have been. Did he strip or something?”

“No, idiot! Look!”

Elio craned his neck to see a sculpture of marble stand on the teacher’s desk. It was made of impossible intertwined round forms that were moving in a mesmerizing slow tempo and as he listened closely, Elio could hear a low hum emanating from marble moving against marble.

“Isn’t that the Phidias Knot?”

“Do you really expect me to remember the name of that thing? Isn’t it amazing, though?”

Elio stared at the sculpture. “It’s beautiful. How did he get it?”

“It’s not the original, he conjured a copy.”

“What? You mean, this isn’t the-”

“I am sorry to interrupt your little chat” Oliver called over to them “but would you please direct your attention back at Patricia? If you already decide to show up late to my class, at least show some respect for your classmates, Perlman.”

Elio felt his cheeks redden, but he fell silent. While Patricia kept explaining something about magical art works, Elio watched in wonder, as the sculpture moved in itself. A knot of marble with no beginning or end, continuously shifting its form and position like a thick snake. He had only seen a photograph of it once and even though it had been a moving one, it was nothing to experiencing it in person. How could someone just conjure up a small wonder like that? Suddenly Elio regretted his decision to come late to class. What he would have given to see this kind of magic.

Elio was so captivated by the moving art work that he did not even notice how time flew. Oliver had to flip his fingers in front of his face to break him out of it.

“What’s gotten into you, Perlman? Don’t tell me you’re also falling asleep now in my classes.” Elio looked around to find everyone gone.

“No”, he mumbled and raised his head from where it had rested on his arms on the table.“I just…can I…” He got up and walked over to the marble statute. “Can I touch it?”

Oliver followed him with a surprised frown. “Sure, go ahead.”

Carefully, Elio lowered his fingers to the sculpture. It was like touching a slowly moving grinder or a marble column while walking around it. He could feel all the tiny irregularities in the surface.

“How did you do it?”

“It’s a simple reproduction spell. I basically just copied the original”, Oliver explained and watched, as Elio let his fingertips wander over the moving surfaces.

“It’s beautiful.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Phidias was a great artist.”

Elio looked up and remembered where he was and with whom. “Yeah…yeah of course. He was.”

He stepped back. For a few seconds Oliver looked at him, probably waiting for him to leave. But when Elio didn’t, he just pointed his wand at the sculpture and mumbled a spell. Elio watched how the marble came to a halt and then crumbled to a normal apple. Elio took it in his hand and tossed it into the air. Because he could not stop his own curiosity, he took a bite and chuckled when it tasted just like any other apple.

“Unbelievable.”

Oliver grinned, but somehow the smile did not quite reach his eyes. “Don’t you have any other classes now?”

Elio wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Go on then. Or are you making it a habit of coming late?”

Elio snorted. “It’s just potions.”

“Well…” Oliver looked at him expectantly. “Later, then.”

Elio rolled his eyes, but when Oliver only kept staring, he put the half-eaten apple down on the desk and left without another word.

***

* * *

***

Art history became better, once Elio stopped being angry at Oliver’s casual teaching style. Now that he knew that Oliver was not as incompetent as he had initially thought, he stopped acting like an asshole. But that didn’t mean he treated Oliver with more respect than needed. Although he did show up on time now, he made it a habit of sitting in the last row and interrupting the discussions by throwing in some random comments whenever he felt like it. Oliver in turn seemed to enjoy their regular arguments during class, at least he never told Elio off because of his manners and even encouraged him, by asking for his opinion now and then.

“Nah, nothing to add, Professor.” Elio would say then and he would grin smug, because he knew Oliver had to do his best not to roll his eyes at him.

“Your essays are perfect, right on point. I don’t understand why you don’t apply the same precision and motivation on a regular basis in class”, Oliver sighed one afternoon, when he had called Elio back, before he could leave with the others.

“Well, it’s the essays and exams that count, right?” Elio replied.

Oliver looked up from the paper he was about to hand to him and cocked an eyebrow. “So does that mean you don’t enjoy my classes?”

Elio scratched his chin, trying his best to not smirk down at him. “They’re alright.”

“Alright?” Oliver repeated in disbelief. “Alright?”

“Yeah.”

Oliver shook his head and pushed the paper into his hands. “Out with you.”

Elio grinned and chased after the others.

***

* * *

***

In his first month at Hogwarts it took Elio quite some time to figure out that bad weather meant something different up here than in Italy. Bad weather meant you could not see more than five feet because the rain was pouring down so hard. Everything below that was deemed acceptable. When he finally adjusted to the different climate, he took up one of his former habits: getting up early and reading outside. In Italy it had been an amazing experience every morning. He would watch the sun come up and as soon as the light was bright enough he could start reading. Here, he was lucky if he found a dry spot under one of the trees by the lake.

This morning for a change, it was unusual good weather. The air was warm and some rays of orange sunlight broke through the grey sky of clouds. He had only just ignited his cigarette and turned the first page, when he saw someone running down the beach. Elio took a deep drag and while the smoke filled his lungs, he watched the figure come closer. It was a man on his morning run. And by the imposing height of his form it could only be one person. Elio exhaled slowly.

“Mornin’ Perlman”, Oliver said, when he came to a halt in front of him. He was wearing a shirt and short, very short pants that gave view on his long legs.

“Morning, Professor”, Elio replied and took another drag.

He expected some kind of comment on his smoking or at least an interested question on why he was up so early or what he was reading. But instead he only got one word.

“Later.”

And he was off again.

Elio blew the smoke into the air and grinned.

God, how he hated that man.

***

* * *

***

“What do you mean, you’re not coming?” Murray asked.

Elio shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.”

“But it’s Hogsmeade! Come on, mate! Everyone’s going!”

Elio rolled his eyes at the other boy. “So?”

“So?! It’s the happening! We’re all gonna go to the three Broomsticks and get completely wasted!”

Elio closed the book he had been reading in until Murray had started pestering him. On second thought, going out did sound good. In the past few days Murray had been all caught up in Quidditch and the girls had been losing their heads over one of the Ravenclaw boys, which meant he had spent a lot of time in the music room with his guitar. Not that he would have complained about being on his own, but he liked socializing just as much and going to a pub and drinking together meant having a good time. He was always up for a good time.

“Alright.”

And so, a few hours later, he found himself in a very crowded pub. Hunched between Marzia and Murray and cheering on Amanda and Clayton in their drinking game.

“Come on, Amanda!” He yelled and slammed his hand down on the table. “You can take him!”

Marzia was laughing so hard next to him that she had to hold onto his arm to not double over, while Murray was already ordering the next round. When it was Elio’s turn to take on Murray in downing the shots as fast as possible, he made a big show of slipping out of his sweatshirt. Left in just his tank top, he earned quite some whistles from the girls. But he wasn’t even half through the shots, when he noticed the cheering had ceased and the others’ attention was on someone else.

“Look, it’s Oliver!” Marzia said and pointed to the other side of the pub, where indeed the tall blond teacher had entered the room and was making his way over to them.

“I see, you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Oliver grinned, when he stopped at their table. Elio swallowed down the rest of the whiskey in his mouth and leaned back in his seat, suddenly feeling more sober than he should after three shots of fire whiskey. It was like physics. Once Oliver entered a room, he was the magnet of all attention, without exception. Elio watched, as Amanda invited the teacher to sit with them and started a conversation that soon ended in everyone shouting incoherently at each other. Oliver was laughing and from across the table he grinned at Elio. Elio smiled back, if only briefly. Maybe it was because of the alcohol, but suddenly he felt strangely disconnected from his usual don’t-care-don’t-mind attire. And so he just watched as everyone fought over Oliver’s attention and the blonde did his best to answer all the questions.

“It’s really not that difficult. Back in the day we used to play it all the time. Here, I’ll show you.”

Oliver rearranged the empty whiskey glasses and aimed his wand at them. One after one, they turned on their head.

“But what’s even the point of it?”

“What’s the point of any drinking game, Murray? You drink the shot, then turn the glass with magic and then go on to the next. Do try it out, if you think it’s that easy. Because, believe me, after five shots of fire whiskey that gets quite hard.”

Murray was not one to turn down a challenge and so a new round of drinking games began. However, after Murray let the second glass explode, they all thought it best to take a safer position before he moved on to the next. And so Elio found himself standing next to Oliver as he watched his friend slowly turn red, trying to turn the third glass with magic. The others were cheering him on and doing a great job of annoying the hell out of every other guest in the pub.

Although Elio was staring straight ahead, he could feel Oliver’s eyes on him.

“You’re awfully quiet, Perlman. You alright?”

Elio shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah.”

“Ah, come on. It’s just a game, have some fun!”

Oliver softly patted his shoulder. Elio didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or the feeling of the older man’s warm hand on his skin, but at the direct skin contact he suddenly felt so hot that he quickly slipped from Oliver’s touch.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You alright?” Oliver asked and before Elio could stop him, he once again had his hands on Elio’s shoulders. Elio felt his breath hitch, when Oliver buried his knuckles deep in his muscles and started to slowly massage him. “God, you are tense.”

Elio did his best to protest. He didn’t want to be touched that way. He didn’t want to, because… because… for some reason that his alcohol-fogged mind could not fully grasp, he liked it. And that was just absolute bullshit. Why on earth would he like it? Maybe because Oliver’s hands felt so perfect on his skin. So warm and big and strong that Elio could feel the touch vibrating through his whole body, leaving a hot tingling in his guts and making his toes curl. For a moment, Elio could do nothing but stand there, with parted lips and wide eyes, and feel unbelievable good and horrified to the bones at the same time.

One second longer, Elio thought, one second longer and I will collapse against him. I will just fall against his chest and touch him back. And I will look like a fucking idiot. Elio broke free and tumbled a few steps forward, but Oliver pulled him back.

“Hey, hey! Come on, relax.”

“I am relaxed”, Elio pressed from between clenched teeth. He could already feel goose bumps form all over his arms and he would rather die than have the American find out what kind of effect he had on him.

“No, no, no.” Oliver gripped him harder than before to keep him from slipping away again. “You are tense like a bow.”

“Oliver!” Murray called. “Look, I’ve done it!”

“Yeah, gimme a second! Marzia! Come on over here, feel this!” Elio’s lips curled in anger, when Oliver pulled Marzia’s hands to his skin. “See how tense he is?”

“Oliver!” Murray called again and the teacher patted Elio’s other shoulder before stepping around him and with a “later” he left the two standing there and joined the others at the table.

“You really are tense.” Elio heard Marzia say behind him, but he ignored her. His gaze was glued to Oliver’s back. Why would he do this to him? What was it even that he had done to him? Why was he reacting so strange?

Elio felt sick. He felt so sick that for a moment he feared he would vomit all over his shoes, but the feeling ceased just as quick as it had come and he was left with nothing but a taste of bile in his mouth. In exchange the air suddenly felt so hot and humid in the pub that he could no longer breathe.

“I’m going outside”, Elio growled and shrugged Marzia’s small hands off him.

“Should I-”

“No.”

He grabbed his sweater and stormed off. The air outside was cool and clear, and Elio took it in with deep breaths, hoping it would flush the odd feeling right out of his body.

It didn’t.

With a pained sigh, Elio fell against the outside wall of the pub. What was going on with him? How could a simple touch like that make him react so strongly?

Absentmindedly he rubbed his shoulder and he remembered vividly how it had felt just minutes ago when Oliver had done that. It had felt amazing. Like nothing else he had ever experienced before. If he just closed his eyes, he could imagine him again. Standing right behind him. The warmth of his body against his back, so close that he made the hairs in his neck stand up with electric excitement.

But not close enough.

How he wished he had come closer.

Elio exhaled with shaky lips. What was wrong with him? How could he crave more of something so…wrong? Because it was wrong, wasn’t it? Craving the touch of a teacher of all people...

Elio stared at the cloudy sky above and shook his head. As nagging as the thought was, it was not nearly as strong as his sudden hunger for more. The hot imprint on his shoulder was already fading under the cold air, but the tingling in his guts stayed. Maybe it would pass too. But what if he didn’t want it to pass?

What if he wanted to feel it again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Don't like it? Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooooooo much for all the comments and kudos!!! 
> 
> And special thanks to StellarBubble for being my wonderful Beta :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 4

Four days of classes passed at the end of which Elio could not have repeated a single word the teachers had said. Not that he cared anyway. His thoughts were far away from subjects such as potions and transfiguration. He spent most of his time in the music class room. He couldn’t really concentrate on his music, but being around the girls and their cheerful chatter this week just made his head ache.

What he needed now more than ever was silence. A break from everything to clear his head. But that got more difficult with every day that passed. During lunch time he would stare blankly at the teachers’ table, where Oliver was sitting, and he would hope, he would wish, that the tall blonde would look at him. Just once at least, so he could feel that strange tingle again. Just to be sure it was still there. But Oliver didn’t look his way and Elio was left in the strange state of having scratched at the surface of something incredible, but not having seen enough to be sure it was real, craving for some kind of validation.

By the time art history class arrived, Elio was an emotional mess. He hadn’t slept well in days. He was constantly questioning himself. Maybe he had just imagined how good Oliver’s hands had felt on his skin. Maybe he had been drunk. Maybe he was idealizing the moment? Questions like these were running through his head when he was finally waiting outside of the classroom. Unsure of whether to go in or not. He could already hear the others laugh and chat inside. But even though he knew there was nothing to be afraid of, something held him back. What exactly he was more scared of he could not say. That it was real or that it was not. What would be worse?

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to open the door for me?”

Elio whirled around and there he was.

Oliver.

Standing right in front of him. A huge box in his arms and looking at him expectantly.

“Well?”

“Yes, of course.”

Elio hurried to open the door and Oliver quickly squeezed past him, not even giving Elio a chance to make room. For a split second Elio was drowning in the smell of his aftershave and cologne and he was glad he still had one hand on the door handle. Because suddenly the floor beneath his feet was swaying like a boat in the midst of a thunderstorm.

“Alright everyone!” Oliver called out in his usual good-humoured manner as he strode to his desk. “I hope you’re all up for some first-hand art experience! Because boy do I have something to show you all.”

Elio paused in the middle of the room and watched the others storm to the desk to cast a glance into the box.

“It’s just tapestry!”

“What’s it for?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see.” Oliver grinned and with a flick of his wand half a dozen rolls of white tapestry flew from the box and wrapped themselves in one long ring around the walls of the room. “Now, watch and wonder!”

And with another silent command of his, the whole room changed in front of their eyes. Elio could hear sounds of amazement from the others, when the tapestry stretched and stretched in every direction, soon covering the walls and the ceiling and even the floor beneath their feet. But while everyone was turning their heads to watch as different colours appeared on the huge canvas, Elio’s gaze was fixed on Oliver.

He was standing there as though he was all by himself. His arms apart and his head inclined in concentration as he was transforming the classroom into a real life architectural art work. His lips were moving without sound and his eyes were closed. He looked beautiful. So beautiful that it silenced all the questions in Elio’s head and left him filled with nothing else but silent admiration and a new form of longing.

How could he have been so blind? He hadn’t disliked Oliver. Not at all. He had only been intimidated by the sheer variety and strength of feelings the blonde provoked in him.

Finally Elio had to look away out of fear that the others would see him staring, because in that moment he felt as though all his feelings were displayed as clearly on his face as was the image of the art Oliver had cast. Elio recognized it faintly as a Chinese pavilion, but he could have never said which artist. He knew nothing about Asian culture. But he knew it looked stunning.

Red poles framed the walls, as if they were standing right in the middle of the pavilion and on the ceiling they could see an amazing spiral of golden ornaments run along the insides of a convincingly real three dimensional roof top. Lampions were hanging from the timbers and spread a discrete orange light. Elio was convinced that if he would just reach out, he could actually touch them. But the most stunning part of the illusion was the garden. While he knew that the posts of the pavilion had to be two dimensional and were part of the class room wall, the mass of green trees, bushes and plants behind them looked so real as though one could just step right out of the class room and into the garden.

Not for the first time Elio asked himself, how someone could create such beauty. What kind of brilliant mind did one had to have to create such an illusion just from memory? Despite its mesmerising beauty and detail, Elio felt his attention slip back to its creator. Oliver was currently surveying his work and the students’ reactions with smug satisfaction.

Elio felt a tinge of fear at the sight. What if that was Oliver’s thing? Sparking a reaction and then relishing in the fact that he alone had been able to bring it forth?

Elio dropped his gaze to the floor. Planks of dark wood ran beneath his feet and as he shifted his weight, he could hear them screech. So much attention for detail…

“What do you think of it?” Oliver’s voice tore him out of his thoughts.

Elio cleared his throat. “It’s…it’s quite something.”

Oliver nodded and looked around. “See the small engraving over there? What do you think it is?”

Elio threw him a side-glance. He was standing so close to him again. So close that he would just have to raise his hand…

“I don’t know, maybe the signature of the artist?”

“Wrong.” Oliver smirked at him. “It’s the logo of the factory that produces thousands of these pavilions every year.”

“So it’s not even art?”

“Nope.”

“Why do you show it to us then? If it’s just…an ordinary Chinese pavilion?”

Oliver looked at him and his next words sounded like he was sharing a secret with Elio. “Maybe what is ordinary to them, is art to us.”

With that he gave him a wink, before sauntering off to talk to the others.

Elio stared after him, speechless. The gears in his head didn’t have to turn for long to come to the right conclusion. So, not only did Oliver remember his arguments from the very first day, he also had an answer to it.

He agreed.

Elio sunk against one of the red poles and watched the blond teacher sell the pavilion as _the_ most important art work of Chinese culture to his classmates. He grinned in bewilderment. If he was playing such a stunt on the others and included only him in it, did that mean Oliver actually liked him? Not just tolerate him as the know-it-all of his class, but did it mean he actually _liked_ him?

Suddenly he felt very nervous. Maybe he was imagining that one too? Maybe his fantasy was just playing tricks on him. Exasperated Elio turned his back to the teacher. Why couldn’t Oliver be like one of those art works they were studying in class? Intriguing and beautiful, and _easy_ to figure out.

When it came to art, Elio usually knew from the first moment on what he was feeling. But now…

Elio ran his fingers over the engravings in the wooden pole of the illusionary pavilion. It felt real enough to him.

***

* * *

***

The last days of September were still surprisingly warm and sunny and so Elio spend as much time outside as he could. The big log by the lake had become his favourite place. Not only gave it a perfect view on the lake, but it was also close enough to the footpath where every morning, like clockwork, Oliver would pass by on his run. Some mornings Elio felt insecure of whether he should show up. Maybe his questionable intentions, namely to catch a glimpse at Oliver outside of the classroom, were too obvious? But in the end he always took his books and went there every morning. Because even though he wouldn’t get more than a nod or the occasional “Morning, Perlman” it was totally worth it.

Since Elio had realized that he didn’t dislike the art history teacher, but that in fact quite the opposite was the case, every word and every look Oliver directed at him seemed like the best thing that could possibly happen to Elio on that day. While he wasn’t surprised about the attraction itself – a blind man could have figured out that Oliver was handsome – Elio was still thrown by the intensity of it.

He had been attracted to others before, both boys and girls. But never had he felt so strong about someone before. This time he actually felt like he wanted to…act on this feeling. Which of course was impossible because not only was Oliver way older than him, he was also his teacher and most important of all – in what world would a man like Oliver want anything from Elio?

Not that those thoughts changed anything, of course. He was watching and staring at Oliver whenever he had the chance, mesmerizing every smile he cast and cherishing every moment of attention he directed at Elio. He was starting to think about Oliver even when he was not around. When he was sitting in other classes, when he was lying in his bed, about to fall asleep, when he woke up, when he composed music. He was starting to become obsessed with the American.

Today was no different. Even though he was sitting in midst of his friends at the lake and was playing the guitar for them, his thoughts circled around Oliver.

He was so immersed in his thoughts and his music that he didn’t even notice how the very person he was thinking about, stepped in front of him.

“What are you doing out here?” Amanda asked, immediately sitting up straighter.

“Oh, just the same as you. Enjoying the sun.”

The familiar deep voice finally made Elio look up. At the sight of Oliver his fingers slipped from the strings.

He was wearing the first three buttons of his shirt undone, showing more skin than any teacher should be allowed. For a wonderful moment Elio could imagine the sensation of running his fingertips over Oliver’s broad chest. Of being so close to him that he could feel him breathe. The thought made his own breath hitch.

“You alright there, Perlman? Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Elio tore his eyes from where they must have burnt a hole in Oliver’s chest and found Oliver looking at him questionably.

“Elio was just showing us something he composed”, Marzia said.

“You’re composing?” Oliver asked with interest. “Please.” He sat down in the grass. “Let’s hear it.”

Elio gripped the guitar a bit harder. “It’s not finished yet.”

“Well if it was good enough to show to your friends…”

With everybody looking at him expectantly Elio was left with no other option than to comply.

So he played.

He kept his gaze firmly on Oliver, not wanting to show any signs of weakness. But he found that all the initial tension was unsubstantiated. Oliver wasn’t even directly looking at him. Instead he was watching Elio’s hands. It should have made Elio even more nervous, but for some reason it calmed him. Being at the centre of Oliver’s attention made him feel warmer than sitting in the sun.

Finally the last note faded and Elio dropped his gaze to hide the smile on his face. From the corner of his eyes he could see the others looking at Oliver expectantly and he too waited for what the blonde had to say. But when no response came Elio started to play again, hoping to fill the silence. He chose a different tune this time, a more cheerful one. It was one of his older compositions and so it fell easy from his fingers, without him having to think about the motions. His eyes wandered to Oliver’s hand in the grass and to his delight he could see Oliver’s finger tapping softly against his ankle.

Elio bit his lip to fight the grin that was threatening to break through. He could hear the others take up their conversations again, but he didn’t care. In this moment he was only playing for Oliver. And Oliver was listening. That was all that mattered.

“Will we do some more classes on Asian culture in the next weeks, Oliver?” Amanda asked aloud and Elio’s fingers paused on the strings.

“I don’t think so, Amanda.”

“Why not? It was so interesting!”

“Why don’t we discuss that later? Let’s listen to Elio for now.”

Elio looked up upon hearing Oliver saying his name for the first time and their gazes locked.

“You’re not tired of it yet?” He challenged.

“No”, Oliver responded with an honest smile on his lips, before he lowered himself to the ground and closed his eyes. “Not at all.”

Seeing how Oliver had just outright ignored all the attention seeking glances of the others and instead was waiting for Elio to start playing again, made his stomach flip. Of course he would never admit to the others that Oliver had such an effect on him. But to himself he couldn’t lie so easily. And he didn’t want to. He enjoyed that warm tingle on his skin that came with Oliver’s glances. He enjoyed how the simple matter of Oliver wanting him to play some more music made him feel light and happy. So he kept playing. He kept playing while the sun wandered across the sky and made Oliver’s hair reflect the golden rays of sunshine. He kept playing when his friends started a game of exploding snap and cheered each other on. He kept playing after the sun had disappeared behind the castle and his fingertips were hurting so much he would have normally long stopped playing. But just watching Oliver lie in the grass made him push through and so he kept playing and playing, until it was getting dark and the noise of the others leaving made Oliver sit up.

Elio waited while the last accord hung in the air and then put his guitar down.

“You coming, Elio?” Marzia asked.

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

Elio walked over to the lake to and dipped his burning fingertips into the cool water. While he waited for the pain to suffice, he watched Oliver over his shoulder, hoping for some kind of response. Some kind of acknowledgement that he had liked it. A few words, a smile at least. But Oliver just nodded at him and then, with his usual “later”, he left.

Elio turned back to the water in front of him and shook his head in silent amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos!!! I really appreciate every single one of them <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 5

“…and with a last pinch of asphodel, the potion is left to simmer for exactly four minutes and thirteen seconds, before we begin with the sixth round of stirring clockwise.”

Elio wasn’t stirring anything. He had long given up on the miserable liquor that was bubbling in his cauldron. He had only chosen to continue with potions because he was quite talented at it, not because he liked it much. But on days like these, when he simply lacked the motivation, all talent didn’t help. What didn’t help either was that the teacher was so young and frightened of speaking in front of students that he had to look at his book every other minute to check his instructions. With the teacher being busy with himself and the room filled with smoke, no one cared much to do anything and so Elio wasn’t the only one who was busy with other things. Most students were just randomly throwing their ingredients into their cauldrons and comparing the experimental results.

“How are we supposed to learn anything from this?” Gareth Bailey complained. He was one of Elio’s roommates and in this class one of the only ones who cared about the subject. “He is absolutely incompetent!”

“Relax, Bailey”, Murray said and stifled a yawn. “It’s not like you will need it later.”

“So? It’s still graded! Unlike others here I plan to actually make something out of me.” He threw a pointy look at Elio who sat next to Murray and read a book.

“Anything you wanna say to me?” Elio asked without taking his eyes from the page.

Gareth scoffed. “As if I needed to say anything.”

“Maybe just don’t then and concentrate on your cooking.”

Murray grinned wide. “Yeah, hear that, Gary? Shut your mouth and stir!”

Elio allowed himself a small grin when the other Gryffindor wanted to bite back, but Murray shut him down. On some days it paid off having Murray as a friend. It wasn’t like he wasn’t accepted by the others, but some of the Gryffindors were still less welcoming towards him than others. At the beginning Elio had thought it was just because he was new and they already knew each other for five years. But in time he had learnt that the house had “values” to uphold with all its famous predecessors like Godric Gryffindor, Dumbledore and of course the one and only Harry Potter. And so one either had to fight for the house by playing Quidditch like Murray, being a good team player, or simply applying oneself in class, like Gareth.

Elio did none of those things. He didn’t care for Quidditch. He liked to party and socialize, but by the end of the day preferred to be left alone with a good book or his music. And while he was good in school, he didn’t take it too serious. And despite all the good reputation the Gryffindor house seemed to carry, that was something most Gryffindors simply did not well with. But Elio couldn’t have cared less. He had never bothered much what others thought of him before and he would certainly not start now.

Well, with one exception of course.

With one tall, beautiful, blond exception.

He’d stayed and listened to Elio play. He’d stayed, when he could have left on numerous occasions. That thought was circling his Elio’s mind since the weekend and whatever he did during that week, it would not leave. Oliver had listened to him play. And he had stayed, because he liked it.

“You with us, Perlman?” Oliver’s voice brought him back into the present, hours later, when he was sitting in the long awaited class of the week and yet again had become lost in his fantasies.

“Yes, Sir”, he replied quickly and straightened in his seat.

Oliver smirked. “Then please, be so kind and share your thoughts on this piece with us.”

Elio looked from Oliver to the thin figurines on his desk that he had never seen or heard of before and back at Oliver again. “No problem, Professor.”

“Nice save”, Oliver said, when class was over and they were the only two left in the room. Elio watched as Oliver collected his things and shrugged.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oliver threw him a glance and shook his head, smiling. “You might have fooled your fellow students, but let me remind you, I am the teacher here and it is my job to realize when somebody is serving me a pile of bullshit about art.”

Elio grinned and jumped off the table to follow him outside. “You mean like you did last week with the Chinese pavilion?”

“Mh, don’t put this on me.”

“Well, as you so correctly said, you are the teacher here and-”

“Oliver!”

They stopped and watched a woman hurry down the corridor towards them. Once she stepped closer, Elio recognized her as Miss Hughes, the teacher for muggle studies.

“I hope I’m not late.”

“No, not at all! Right on time.” Oliver greeted her. “I like what you’ve done to your hair, Patty. Suits you well.”

Miss Hughes blushed deeply. “Thank you.”

“Well, see you next week, Perlman.” Oliver winked at him, before he offered his arm to Miss Hughes.

Elio watched them walk off together and the smile slowly faded from his face. Never had he been jealous of a couple holding hands in the open like that before. They weren’t even a couple. Oliver was probably just flirting with her like he did with the rest of the female teachers and half of the female students on top. But she did have her hand on his arm and although teachers were probably not really allowed to appear that casual within the confines of the school, no one cast a second glance at them.

No one cared.

Elio tousled his hair in frustration and turned his back on them. Suddenly all his appetite for lunch was gone. He spent the rest of the day in the music room. Desperately trying to get the image of the two out of his head, but failing quite miserably in the attempt. In the end he was angrier at himself than at Oliver or Miss Hughes.

How had he become so obsessed with Oliver in such a short amount of time? How was it that he suddenly felt so strongly for someone, whereas all his former attractions had been purely superficial? He’d liked a girl from his French school, because she was a great singer and had been just as keen on music. He’d liked a guy from his Italian school, because he was handsome and just as open-minded. But with both there always had seemed something at miss. Something that kept him back, something that made it not worth the trouble of pursuing them.

Now, with Oliver, he felt like he would explode someday if he didn’t do something soon. But what was there to do really? He would never be able to walk down the corridor by Oliver’s side, like her. He would never be able to claim him his own in front of others, even if just for a few wonderful seconds of flirting. The thought of claiming him his own was ridiculous enough already.

Elio sighed deeply and put his head down on the keys. The piano protested disharmoniously, but Elio didn’t move. Maybe this was just the way it was supposed to be. Guys like Oliver had the whole range of women to pick from, while Elio was side lined to watch, but never allowed to touch.

Once Elio had come to that conclusion, watching Oliver during the meals became more depressing than ever. Most of the times he wasn’t even flirting with Miss Hughes. But he wasn’t ignoring her advances either and that was enough to crush Elio. He felt reduced to the good student again. As though Oliver just liked him for his wits in class and not for who he really was. Who he wanted to be, for Oliver. Seeing him smile at the female teacher made Elio hopeless for any chances he had imagined during the last weeks. Nevertheless, his gaze would always end up on the two and then he was staring again. If even just to imagine that it was him sitting there, talking to Oliver. Making him laugh. Making Oliver look just at him.

“You’re doing it again.”

Elio quickly tore his eyes off the teachers’ table and found Marzia looking at him.

“What?”

“Zoning out.”

“Yeah, we not interesting enough for you, mate?” Murray asked around a big piece of chicken in his mouth.

“Of course not.” Amanda said and rolled her eyes. “Who blames him when all you ever do is talk about Quidditch…”

“Well, it isn’t normal now is it? No Gryffindor doesn’t care for Quidditch. You gotta at least come to one of the trainings, Elio! Just once! So you see what real Quidditch looks like. ‘Course you don’t like it if you only ever saw the Italians and French play. They didn’t make it into the Quidditch world cup finals for what…half a century now?”

“Do you do anything different than flying on broomsticks and throwing with balls?” Elio asked dryly.

Murray grinned. “Sure we do, we win!”

And so, against all odds, Elio found himself sitting on the tribune one early Saturday morning watching the Gryffindor team walk onto the field, rather than sitting by the lake and reading a book. He hadn’t meant to come at first. But Murray had been very persistent over the past few days and because the prospect of seeing Oliver somehow wasn’t quite connected to the same happy tingle in his stomach anymore as it had been only a week ago, Elio had given in.

It was still early and so none of the girls were with them. At least some people were still in their right mind, Elio thought as he observed the others in the distance. He didn’t mind sport in general. Back in Italy he’d been riding his bike around the countryside nearly every day. He’d loved to swim and run in the mornings. But Quidditch…the whole hype around it just didn’t fit with him.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding.”

Elio’s head shot up at the familiar voice.

“Already tired of the lake?”

“No, I just…I was…Murray wanted me to come and watch them train.” Elio stuttered, startled by Oliver’s sudden appearance. Oliver followed his gesture to the Quidditch field where the Gryffindor team was currently flying in circles.

“Quidditch, huh? Didn’t take you for much of a Quidditch fan.”

“I’m not…I’m just…”

“Supporting your friend. Yeah, I can see that, you look really enthusiastic about it.”

Elio rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on your run? Or are you already tired of the lake?”

Oliver grinned and sat down next to him. “Just finished.”

Elio tore his eyes from Oliver’s long legs and looked back to the Quidditch field. Suddenly he was hyperaware of his surroundings.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Saw that there were people training. I like to come up here on the weekends after my runs.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Elio stared at him in confusion, the awkwardness of the situation momentarily forgotten.

“So what, you just come up here and…watch?”

Oliver threw him a side glance. “Yeah, what’s so strange about it? I played Quidditch when I was in Ilvermorny.”

Elio cocked a brow. “Were you any good?”

“Actually I was so good that I played for five years until I graduated, yeah.”

“What position?”

“What do you think?”

Elio watched as Murray smashed his bat so hard at a Bladger that it shot like a cannon ball to the other side of the field in mere seconds.

“Beater.”

“And here I thought you didn’t care for Quidditch.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about it.”

Oliver chuckled and they fell silent again. Elio didn’t know how to feel. On the one hand he’d been so caught up in his downward spiral of frustration and disappointment that all he wanted was to be left alone and bathe in his misery. But just seeing Oliver smile and have him sit right by his side, made his chest constrict with so much happiness that he simply could not keep on brooding.

As usual Oliver’s mere presence was enough to make Elio feel intoxicated. He dreamt of doing reckless things. Like scooting closer until their arms touched. Like burying his face in Oliver’s shoulder and breathing him in. Like saying something he shouldn’t say. But he didn’t, of course. For the moment, sitting next to him was enough. It was enough, because if he closed his eyes, he could already feel the warmth radiating from Oliver’s body. And if he was listening very closely, he could hear Oliver inhale deeply and slowly exhale again. And that made any need for words redundant.

“Yeah! Good catch, Clayton! Good catch!”

Elio’s eyes shot open and he visibly jumped when Oliver started cheering next to him.

“That was an excellent move. Did you see that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Elio mumbled and nervously kneaded the back of his neck.

“Excellent move. Well, I’ll be heading back to the castle.” Oliver said, as he was standing up. “Looks like your team definitely has a chance of winning the Quidditch cup this year.”

“Mh, yeah. I suppose.”

“Cheer up, Perlman.” Oliver laughed at his lack of enthusiasm and patted him on the shoulder. “Later.”

Elio cracked a half-hearted grin and watched him stalk off in his ridiculous short shorts. His long legs made them even more ridiculous, but somehow the tall blonde still managed to pull the look of. When he was disappearing down the stairs, Elio whispered: “Later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments and kudos :)
> 
> Just a reminder that this is a slow burn, there will be intimacy at some point but definitely not in the next few chapters^^
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 6

It was around the end of October that Miss Hughes stopped showing up after class to wait for Oliver. While Elio still saw them exchange a few occasional words in the Great Hall, whatever flirt had been going on between the two was over. Elio should have felt good about it, euphoric even. But he didn’t. Because now he had to sit in class and watch her read excerpts from the book with an ice cold expression on her face. It was out of question who had dropped whom. Elio knew that Oliver probably wasn’t even to blame. He’d only ever flirted back, as he did with everyone else.

As he did with everyone else…

If there was anything that succeeded in lowering Elio’s expectations even more, then it was that small realization. Because as obsessed as he was with the art history teacher, Elio wasn’t stupid. Seeing the disappointment on Miss Hughes face made it clear that Oliver was someone who inadvertently caused everybody to get their hopes up. Because he was someone who simply made everybody feel good around him. Of course Elio had known. He had known there was no chance for him. There were just too many things in the way. But watching Miss Hughes pout in Muggle studies and then Oliver flirt as usual with the others a class later made Elio reconsider his own euphoria in searching out the blonde’s attention. What if he too spent too much time searching for things in his interactions with Oliver that weren’t there? What if he too slipped from dreaming to actually hoping for something? He couldn’t let that happen. He might have wished it was different, but his sense for self-preservation was higher than his stupid dreams.

So he did the only thing that made sense to him. He stopped staring, at least when Oliver was looking. He stopped participating in class and kept his answers short when Oliver wouldn’t let off. He didn’t stay after class to ask some more questions and most importantly, he spent his mornings reading in bed. If Oliver noticed, and of course he must have, he didn’t say anything. The first few days he seemed confused as to Elio’s sudden decrease in participation in class. But when all his attempts to involve him in discussions failed, he soon gave up.

It didn’t change Elio’s obsession with Oliver. Not one bit. He would still stare when Oliver wasn’t watching. He would still day-dream about him in class. But he wouldn’t lose himself in his feelings anymore. And while that was less joyful on the one hand, it also made him feel more in control of himself on the other.

That strategy worked out for exactly two weeks. Until one Sunday afternoon, when Elio was playing the piano alone in the music room, Oliver came to him. Elio wasn’t really listening to what he was playing so he heard him the moment he stepped into the room. But he didn’t turn around. The reflection in the window left no question as to who was leaning in the door and listening in on him. Elio kept playing for a few more minutes, then he stopped.

“Either come in or not, but close the door. There’s a draught.”

Elio’s intention to sound rude didn’t have the wanted effect, because a second later the door fell shut and Oliver walked over to him.

“What were you playing there?”

“Don’t remember”, Elio lied.

“Well, it sounded nice. Didn’t know you could play the piano.”

Elio kept his eyes firmly on the keys, but that got harder and harder when Oliver’s hand moved into his view, elegantly gliding over the smooth surface of the piano like he was caressing something living.

“Where did you learn how to play like that?”

“I taught myself”, Elio replied.

It was only a half-lie. He had had a few lessons with a teacher when he was a child, but that were just the basics. With his parents being so invested in the arts, they had given him the chance to learn several instruments, just to see which he liked best.

“Impressive”, Oliver said. “So guitar, piano…anything else?”

“I tried Cello, but wasn’t for me.”

When he didn’t add anything, Oliver nodded slowly.

“Did you ever…play on stage?”

“No.”

“Well, it sounded good enough, maybe you should.” Elio only shrugged indifferent and Oliver sighed. “Not much of a talker today, are you, Perlman?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Elio challenged and finally looked up to meet Oliver’s eye. He immediately regretted sounding so harsh when he watched Oliver’s smile disappear.

“Maybe for a start what is going on with you?”

“Why do you think there’s anything going on with me?”

“Come on, Perlman. You know what I’m talking about. You don’t participate in class. You don’t even answer the simplest questions anymore. You look like…something is bothering you.”

Or someone, Elio thought. Oliver looked at him questionably when he didn’t answer.

“So am I right?” He continued before Elio could come up with an excuse that didn’t sound as harsh as his previous words. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know…I’m just…I’m just not in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Not in a good mood, huh?” Oliver repeated disbelievingly, but grinned. “Well, we can do something about that.” Elio’s eyes widened when Oliver extended his hand to him. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on, get up. You need to get out of these walls. No wonder you’re feeling down. Haven’t seen you outside in weeks.”

Elio didn’t even have the chance to object, before Oliver had already pulled him to his feet. “I don’t want to…” He tried to protest, when Oliver pushed him out of the classroom.

“Some fresh air and sunshine, that’s exactly what you need right now.”

“It’s probably not even sunny outside”, Elio grumbled, but still followed him.

It was sunny.

So sunny that half of the school was outside, lying in the grass or playing games, enjoying what was probably going to be the last warm day of the year. Oliver led him past their loud chatter and onto a small path by the lake, until the voices of the others were swallowed by the trees and they were all alone.

Alone with Oliver.

That was exactly what Elio had tried to avoid over the last weeks. And now here he was, walking side by side with the man he was obsessing over like the stereotypical teenager he’d never wanted to be.

“That better?” Oliver asked him after a while.

Elio shrugged. “Yeah.”

Of course it was better. It was better than better and at the same time so much worse.

“So, you wanna tell me now what’s gotten into you lately?”

“As I said, just…not in a good mood.”

It sounded like a weak excuse even to his own ears, but Oliver let it slide.

“I guess Scotland takes some time getting used to after living in Italy, huh?” He changed the subject.

“Yeah…” Elio said, before giving himself a push. “But it’s quite alright. Not as bad as everyone told me it would be.”

“How long did you go to school in Italy?”

“Just two years. Before that I was in France for three years.”

“Ah, Beauxbatons. Heard a lot about it. Even applied for an internship a few years back.”

Elio looked up. “You did?”

“Yeah. They didn’t take me though.” He grinned. “Guess I shouldn’t have said I was American.”

“Their loss.” Elio said before he could stop himself and Oliver chuckled.

“Indeed. So…France, Italy, now Scotland. Why are you travelling so much?”

“My father’s a historian. He’s been teaching in a lot of different universities. So we travel a lot.”

“What kind of historian?”

“Greek and Romanian art archaeology.”

Oliver stopped. “Wait, you mean…your father is… _the_ Professor Perlman? The one who wrote the book about Greek art history?”

“You read it?” Elio asked surprised.

“Have I…have I read it?” Oliver laughed. “Of course I read it! It’s _the_ book about Greek art history! Everyone in the field knows it! Unbelievable! Perlman, of course! No wonder you know so much about art.”

Elio smiled. “I learned from the best.”

For a while they just walked in comfortable silence. The path below their feet led them deeper into the forest and away from the lake, until it made a big bow and ended at the water again. They came to a stop and Elio curiously looked around. The castle was so far away now that Elio could only see the very tops of the towers.

“It’s nice here.”

“See, what did I tell you?”

Oliver sat down in the grass and patted the space next to him. Elio didn’t think long. He threw his jacket on the ground and sat down. For a moment there was a comfortable silence in which Elio let his eyes wander over the smooth surface of the dark water. Oliver had been right. It was good to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere of the stone walled corridors in the castle. It was good to finally feel the sun and the light wind on his skin again. But overall of course the best thing was being in the presence of Oliver again. Listening to his deep voice, his calm breaths, his laugh. Seeing him smile. Being with him.

Alone.

The longer he listened to Oliver talk, the further Elio felt his mind wander, until he wasn’t listening at all anymore. He couldn’t believe that they were actually here, just the two of them. That Oliver had actually taken him out here. It might have been Sunday, but didn’t Oliver have other things to do? More important things? More important things than cheering up a depressed teenager and taking him out for a walk? Not that Elio would have felt like complaining. No, the exact opposite was the case. What he was contemplating was…was there something more to this? More than a teacher merely caring for a seemingly troubled student?

Oliver must have finally noticed his silent staring, because he stopped in the middle of his talking and looked at him amused.

“Am I boring you?”

Elio blinked. “No. No! Not at all, I was just…please, continue.” He fumbled for his cigarettes. “You mind?”

“No.”

Elio offered him one, but Oliver declined. Elio took a deep drag and waited for the nicotine to clear his thoughts.

“So, you want to become an art historian too?” Elio asked to get Oliver talking again.

“One day, maybe. If that’s something one can become so easily.” Oliver said. “For now I’m just travelling, reading, writing on my dissertation. So overall I’m studying. Just like you.”

“What topic are you writing your dissertation on?”

“The Greek’s philosophy of art. What?” He turned his head when Elio laughed.

“Nothing, it’s just…that’s definitely something my father knows a lot about.”

“Yeah, it’s impossible to write on that topic without referring to his works.”

“Maybe you should meet him.” Elio said, before he could stop himself. “I mean, you are in the same country after all.”

Oliver chuckled. “Ah, I doubt that he would be interested in me. Not in the current stage of my career.”

“Don’t say that. My father’s always interested in new input, no matter from whom. Actually he takes interns every summer when we’re in Italy.”

“You spend all your summers in Italy?” Oliver changed the subject. Elio took another drag from his cigarette and nodded.

“Every summer vacation, every Christmas. Since I was a child. Have you ever been to Italy?”

“A few times, yes. Rome of course, Napoli, Florence, Venice…”

“So basically every touristic city.” Elio joked and Oliver chuckled.

“Yeah. Where do you usually stay?”

“Lombardy. We have a house close to Crema.”

“Mh, guess I’ll have to add that to my list then. Still got to visit so many places in Europe.”

“I guess it’s quite different to America?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I always considered New York to be too contemporary when it comes to art. Europe is…like having the chance to actually touch art.”

“So you live in New York?”

“Born and raised.”

“What’s it like?”

“New York? Beautiful and dreadful at the same time. I’ve never seen so many people in one place.”

Elio listened intently as Oliver started to describe his life in New York. Everything Oliver said made Elio want to go and see the places he was talking about. Maybe it was something in the way Oliver spoke. With genuine affection and enthusiasm. Elio kept his eyes on the horizon, where the sun slowly crept to its highest point. When he looked back at Oliver, the blonde had leaned back in the grass and had closed his eyes. He was still talking, but there was something more relaxed about his face. Something peaceful. And Elio found that he couldn’t take his eyes from it.

For the first time he could really look at Oliver, without being afraid of being caught. His gaze wandered over the long lines of Oliver’s outstretched body. His long legs, crossed at the ankles. His long arms folded behind his head. Now that he wasn’t standing, he didn’t look as towering and intimidating as usually. He just looked… beautiful. The sunlight made his skin appear warm and soft and Elio could feel the urge to reach out and touch. To rake his hand through Oliver’s blonde hair. To slide his fingers down the side of his face and to his lips, so he could feel him smile against his fingertips. Elio’s eyes wandered lower, to Oliver’s chest, where his unbuttoned shirt revealed a soft pattern of dark hair. How could someone be so beautiful? So perfect?

Just staring at Oliver made Elio’s heart flutter. The need to reach out and touch Oliver seemed to grow with each second, until it felt nearly unbearable. Until he feared he would at some point forget to hold back and actually reach out. Elio exhaled heavily. His head was swimming with forbidden images that only got stronger the longer he looked.

“I can feel you staring, you know”, Oliver said and cracked one of his eyes open. Elio felt his face heat up and he quickly adverted his gaze.

“Was listening.”

“I didn’t say anything. Not in the last minute at least. What were you thinking about?”

“I was…imagining what it would be like to…live in New York.”

“New York, huh? Didn’t think you would find it so interesting.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s…an interesting city.”

Oliver chuckled. “Yes it is.” He sat up and searched for something in his bag. Elio watched from the corner of his eye as Oliver pulled out a couple of peaches. “Want one?”

Elio jerked his hands up just in time to catch the orange fruit that Oliver threw at him. “Where did you get them?”

“I don’t know. Breakfast.”

“Ah, those.”

“Why?”

“They’re not the good ones. The ones we grow in Italy are the best. These are no comparison.”

Oliver threw him a sarcastic look. “Well, I don’t have any other ones, Princess.”

Elio rolled his eyes. “Shame, guess these will have to do then.”

“Guess they will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there :) thanks for all the nice comments, really happy about all the positive response!
> 
> This chapter is a bit short and contains not so much interaction with Oliver, but the next one will definitely have enough Oliver in it again, promise!
> 
> Enjoy!

Oliver.

Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.

That was all Elio could think about. He’d gone to bed thinking about him. He’d lain awake for three hours thinking about him. He’d woken up thinking about him. And now he was sitting in class, staring at him and there was no way of keeping his mind from wandering. It was maddening.

Oliver was currently explaining an artwork and the rest of the class was glued to his lips as usual. Elio on the other hand wasn’t really listening. In his mind they were at the lake again and it was just the two of them. Oliver was on his back, arms crossed behind his head and with his eyes closed, looking beautiful like a Greek statue come to life. He would be talking about his life in America while Elio stared at him and listened. Only this time, Elio wouldn’t just stare. This time he would find the courage to reach out and touch. He would run his hand through Oliver’s blonde hair and down his jawline and Oliver would smile. He’d open his mouth to let Elio’s fingers slip inside his mouth and Elio would carefully brush his fingertip over Oliver’s tongue. Being so close to Oliver would make him nervous, but Oliver would just lie there, still as a statue and let him touch and explore, and that would give Elio enough courage to continue. He’d put one hand on Oliver’s broad chest and feel it move together with the deep inhales. And because that wasn’t enough, not even remotely, Elio would lean in closer and closer, aligning their faces. Oliver would open his eyes and move one hand to the back of Elio’s head and they would both lean in to…

The sound of chairs scratching over the ground tore Elio from his daydreams and he looked up to see his classmates leaving. Marzia threw him a questioning look when she passed him, but Elio was still too dazed by the fading images in his head to even notice. Only when Oliver stepped in front of him he managed to shake the fantasy from his mind.

“Still not satisfied with the content of my lectures, Perlman?”

Elio quickly straightened up in his chair. “No…I mean yes of course, I was just…”

“I get it. Rococo is not for everyone.”

“That’s not…I mean…” Elio searched for words, but Oliver seemed unaware of the true reason for his distraction and just gave him a soft pat on the shoulder.

“Go and have lunch, Perlman. Next week will be more interesting, I promise.” And with a last wink at Elio, he left the room.

Elio leaned back in his seat and sighed heavily. He couldn’t decide whether he should be angry or not with himself because he had missed out on two hours of staring at Oliver. Either way, he didn’t feel like leaving quite yet. Even though he was totally alone now in the empty classroom, he could still sense Oliver’s presence. His voice, his scent… all of him still lingered in the air. Elio could have easily closed his eyes and slipped back into his daydream to continue what had seemed like a promising scene, but instead his eyes caught sight of the small staircase behind the teacher’s desk. It led to Oliver’s office.

Elio bit his lip.

He really shouldn’t.

He really, really shouldn’t.

But he did.

In seconds he had crossed the room, climbed the stairs and reached out for the door. One heartbeat long his hand hesitated on the handle, then he pushed it down. The door was unlocked. Without a sound it swung open and Elio stepped inside.

It was Oliver’s office without doubt. Walls, shelves, desk, even the windows were covered in papers with images of sculptures and paintings, and long parchments filled with texts, written in Oliver’s neat handwriting. For a few minutes Elio could only stand there and stare at everything. The many illustrations of Greek sculptures, the sheer uncountable number of small paper notes that were pinned everywhere, the huge piles of books and clothing. Elio could just stare and stare and then a huge smile broke free on his face.

His father would have loved this. He would have loved Oliver. All these books and research papers, all that chaos…just like his father’s office. Slowly his hand slipped from the door handle as he stepped further inside Oliver’s realm. He didn’t dare touch anything, in fear he would bring one of the many paper towers to fall, but he did let his fingers brush over the edge of the large desk as he rounded it. Even in all this chaos there was one thing that immediately had caught his eye and that was drawing him closer now. Oliver’s coat.

Thrown over the back of the chair, it looked worn out and its initial auburn colour seemed to have long faded. It appeared like any other coat. But it was Oliver’s. And that knowledge was enough to make Elio throw all caution over board and take it. It was heavy when he put it around his shoulders and way too long for him. The ends were pooling on the floor around his feet. But the smell…

Elio tugged it tighter around his body and inhaled deeply.

Oliver.

His scent was so dominant that Elio swayed under the weight of the coat and he had to lean against the desk to steady himself. This was so much better than just fantasizing. He felt as though Oliver was really here, with him, welcoming him in a soft embrace. The realness of the illusion made Elio’s heart beat speed up with joy. If only he could really be this close to Oliver. If only he could really walk up to him and expect Oliver to pull him into his arms. His long arms that would easily reach around him, strong enough to hold him against Oliver’s chest and never let him go. If only…

Slowly Elio opened his eyes. If only…Really? He sounded like a fucking princess in one of those stupid fairy tales, thirsting after her Prince Charming. The thought, as bitter as it was, still made him chuckle.

“Prince Charming. Yeah, right.”

Shaking his head at himself, Elio carefully dropped the coat over the back of the chair again. He really should get out of here, before his childish crush got out of hand. But before he could do that, his eyes fell on one of the paper notes on Oliver’s desk and the words made him freeze.

_Is it better to speak or to die?_

Elio didn’t know who had said it. He didn’t know whether it was a quote from some philosopher or a phrase taken from a book. In that specific moment he probably didn’t even know what it meant. But it was written in Oliver’s handwriting and that made it…Oliver’s words. In his head Elio could hear Oliver whisper them.

_What is better? To speak or to die?_

Elio didn’t think. He plucked the note off the desk and buried it in his pocket. Then he rushed out of Oliver’s office and hurried to join the others at lunch.

He didn’t dare look at the note until later in the day, when he was in the library and by himself again. His intrusion into Oliver’s office had left him agitated throughout the whole day and it had taken all his self-constraint to not pull out the small paper note and read it. The more satisfying it was then when he found a secluded spot in the library and finally could look at it again.

_Is it better to speak or to die? – Heptaméron, Marguerite de Navarre_.

“To speak or to die…” Elio repeated the words. “Is it better to speak…or to die?”

It made no sense. Or did it? Judging from the title, it was an excerpt from a book, but why, of all the things to quote, had Oliver decided to write down these words? Speak of what? Elio would have shrugged it off as some bloated phrase. But seeing as Oliver had deemed it important enough to write it down and place it on his desk where he would be able to see it at all times, Elio became curious. He tried to look up the book in the library. But when he could find it in none of the catalogues, he did what he always did when he needed a specific book: He wrote to his parents.

And as he was writing them, he put down another small request. The afternoon at the lake still in mind he couldn’t keep himself from grinning widely as he added the second thing. Probably a bad idea. As all his ideas today. But why not. Knowing Oliver he would find it funny. Hopefully he would find it funny. Because Elio would give anything to make him smile.

“He will find it funny”, Elio mumbled to himself, as he climbed the stairs of the Owlery and entrusted his owl with the letter. “Of course he will.”

Pilgrim stared at him with his big yellow eyes and Elio sighed, as he realized he was talking out loud.

“Just ignore me.” He told the bird and raked his fingers through the soft feathers. “And bring this home, will you?”

Pilgrim lovingly nibbled on Elio’s finger. Then he took a step back and, with the silent elegance Elio knew him for, he pushed himself off the window sill and into the air. Elio stayed and watched him glide through the air until he disappeared. Then he returned to the common room. Feeling strangely calm after having broken into Oliver’s office earlier this day, he joined the others for a round of exploding Snap, knowing the small note in his pocket was a secret he soon would figure out. And maybe, by figuring that out, he would figure out Oliver too.

Figuring out Oliver. What a strange but tempting idea.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thank you soooooooo much for all the comments and kudos!!!! I am so happy about the response!
> 
> Sorry it took me so long to post the 8th chapter, life...^^
> 
> It's more of a build-up to the next one which is nearly done and which I hope I'll be able to post by the end of the week.  
> Great things ahead ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

“So, next week we’ll do Hellenism then. Everybody up for that? Perfect. I want you to read chapter sixteen and seventeen in preparation then.”

Amanda sighed loudly. “Do we have to? Usually, you never have us prepare anything in advance.”

Oliver shot her a disapproving look. “Yes, and you got way too comfortable with that. If you have any problems with applying yourself in my course then I suggest-”

“Oh no, absolutely not!” Marzia interrupted him hastily. “I think what she meant was that we all prefer the way you explain the material to us, rather than reading about it in a book.”

“Yeah” Murray added “it’s just more interesting to learn in class when you show us all these examples. Going through all these dry theories is just boring as hell.”

Oliver paused at the sudden flood of compliments from his students.

“Uh-huh”, he said and sat down on the edge of his desk. “What’s going on?”

His suspicion was confirmed when silence fell over the room. In the second row, Elio rolled his eyes. His classmates had no talent for subtlety.

“Well…” Murray said slowly “we were wondering…you are coming to the Halloween party, right?”

Oliver inclined his head. “Yeah.”

“And…there will be food…and drinks…”

“Yeah”

“Drinks as in…pumpkin juice…and…water.”

“Yep, really healthy for you guys.”

“Yeeeeah, but, I mean, it’s a party, right?”

“Indeed it is, Murray. Good observation considering you just mentioned it is.”

“Well, we were kind of disappointed that, you know, there is still this rule that you can’t bring any…alcohol…”

Oliver nodded. “Yeah, I can see how much that bothers you, Murray.”

“Sooo, we thought, that maybe…”

When Murray wouldn’t get to the point, Marzia sighed and stepped in: “We were wondering, if you could maybe allow us to bring some alcohol this year.”

“Allow you? What, you think I as an art history teacher am in the position to change the rules?”

“Or you could just…help us to bring some alcohol…secretly.”

“Secretly as in smuggle something in?”

“Well, if you put it like that…”

Oliver shook his head in amusement. “I see, you think because I’m allowing you all this freedoms in class, I’m growing soft on you. No, not gonna happen. I am definitely not risking my good relation to McGonagall just so you can get wasted.”

Protests arose and everybody started talking at once. Only Elio watched in silent amusement as Oliver sat on his desk, grinning at the rather absurd arguments his students were presenting him with as to why he should smuggle in their drinks. Elio had known about their intention to ask Oliver for help, but he didn’t care much about it. Watching them as they tried to convince him was funny enough.

But one person wasn’t having Elio’s passive amusement.

“Say something”, Marzia hissed and Elio flinched when she elbowed him.

“What?”

“You know, convince him!”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re his favourite! If he’s going to listen to anyone then it’s you!”

For a second Elio was glad the others were so loud, because otherwise there would have been no way Marzia wouldn’t have heard his heartbeat increase at her words. His favourite… Did she really believe that? Coming from anyone else, Elio would have dismissed the word without further recognition. But the way Marzia said it…

“His favourite?” Elio repeated, trying to sound sceptical. “Are you joking?”

“Oh, don’t be so pretentious. You know he likes you. So…say something! Support the cause!”

Elio looked back at Oliver who was openly enjoying the way Murray tried to convince him that firewhisky was actually proven to be healthy for minors.

Oliver’s favourite.

Elio whispered the words and couldn’t hold back a grin at how good it felt to say that.

Oliver’s favourite…

“Do you know in how much trouble you would get if McGonagall caught you drinking in the castle?” Oliver said. “That’s at least twenty points and a few months of detention for all of you.”

“Not if we’re careful!”

“Oh please, I’ve seen you drunk, Murray, and careful is not the word I would use.”

Murray was increasingly losing grounds on the discussion, while Oliver seemed to lose interest in further arguing and so, to avoid being jabbed in the side again by Marzia, Elio finally spoke up.

 “Come on, _Oliver_ ”, he said, giving his voice a playful tone.

He hadn’t meant to use his name. But the second it slipped from his lips he was glad he did, because the reaction he received was more than rewarding. The pen Oliver had been balancing between his fingers slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor and his head whipped around. His eyes wide in surprise, and something else that Elio couldn’t quite pin down.

Intrigued by the strength of Oliver’s reaction, Elio added: “Wouldn’t it be better if you control how much alcohol will be there, rather than us?”

Oliver cleared his throat. Sitting up straighter he put on another smile. “Well, see who decided to join the discussion.”

The others followed his gaze to Elio and the arguing quieted down.

“So what is it that you are saying?”

Elio shrugged. “You know that there are various ways to smuggle in alcohol. Or even worse, we could brew it ourselves. As far as I know, some of us are quite talented in that field. Without mentioning names, of course.” He smirked.

Oliver chuckled. “You do realize that what you are saying is bordering on blackmail, here.”

“All I am saying” Elio said and leaned back in his chair “is that you could have a positive influence of the potentially disastrous outcome of the evening.”

Elio wasn’t sure where his sudden boldness came from. He didn’t even care that much about the Halloween party and even less did he care about getting Oliver into trouble. But Marzia’s words echoed still so loud and clear in his head that he couldn’t keep quiet.

His eyes remained fixed on Oliver when the others picked up his argument. Oliver’s favourite. Maybe there was truth behind Marzia’s words. After all the American _had_ just dropped a pen when Elio had said his name.

Elio bit his lip in the attempt to hide his excited smile.

He felt…flattered.

No, that was an understatement. He felt as though he was about to burst with happiness. He had no proof as to what Oliver’s reaction actually meant, but that didn’t matter, did it? All that counted was the idea, the hope that he, Elio, held a little bit of power over the typically so unimpressionable American.

Everyone was talking at Oliver now until the blonde finally lifted his hands in defence to quit their pleas.

“Alright, alright. I’ll think about it.”

The class started cheering and Elio grinned widely. Suddenly the whole room was filled with excited voices again, as everybody voiced their wishes as to what kinds of booze they wanted Oliver get. Oliver had to raise his voice to end their celebration.

“I said I would think about it!” He said loudly. “Now, please, leave…”

Shaking his head he watched his class storm out of the room, but before the last student could leave, he raised his voice again:

“It’s still blackmail, you know?”

Elio stopped at the door and turned around.

“What?”

“However good your argument was, in the end it’s still blackmail.”

Hands in his pockets, Elio sauntered back into the room.

“You say it like we’re making you commit a crime. But it’s just a small act of mischief. You've been a student once.”

Oliver forced out a dry laugh. “A small act of mischief… Do you realize in how much trouble I could get for that _small act of mischief_?”

Elio shrugged. “You just need to smuggle it in. We’re responsible for the rest.”

When Oliver just kept looking sceptical at him, Elio took a few steps closer and added: “Including taking the blame.”

Oliver stared at him for a while, before he nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

He walked behind the table and started packing his bag, obviously dismissing the conversation, but Elio didn’t feel like leaving. As he watched Oliver stuff his papers with too much force into briefcase, he almost felt guilty for having forced the American into this position. Maybe he was right and this was blackmail. Oliver definitely didn’t look as taken by the idea as his classmates. His composure was tense and his lips were pressed together in a tight line. Elio felt his shoulders sag.

“You don’t have to do it.”

“It’s a bit too late now, don’t you think?” Oliver snapped. “Like you’re all not gonna give me hell if I don’t do it.”

“We won’t. I can talk to the others.”

Oliver looked up and his expression softened when he saw the apologetic look on Elio’s face.

“They’d be disappointed.”

Elio shrugged. “They’ll get over it.”

Oliver stopped in his movements as though he was considering it for a moment, but then he just shook his head. “I think I’ll take the risk.”

“You sure?”

“Like you said. Better I control how much alcohol you consume than you all.”

Elio cracked a smile. “Definitely. Wouldn’t want Murray to challenge McGonagall to a table dance.”

Oliver chuckled. “Nope, definitely not.”

He lowered himself back into his chair and for a moment just looked at Elio, the tension finally leaving his shoulders.

“So, we’re on first name basis now?”

Elio dropped his gaze to where the pen was still lying on the floor and shrugged.

“Nah, I think I still prefer Professor.” He leaned down to pick up the pen and handed it to Oliver. “That alright?”

Oliver took it. “Whatever suits you, Perlman…”

Elio smirked. “Well, then see you on Halloween, _Professor_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know in the HP books Halloween is just a feast with some decorations, but for this story it'll be more of a party. Because duh, how else am I gonna get these two drunk^^
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo :)
> 
> Thank you for all the support, this chapter took quite a lot of work and time. Which is also why the next update might take a little longer. I'm currently writing my Bachelor Thesis, so please bear with me! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Halloween.

In the past, Elio had never cared much for the hype around it. But this year was different. Hogwarts was different. In Hogwarts, Halloween wasn’t just about silly costumes.

The Great Hall had been transformed to look like the inside of a gigantic Gothic crypt, with tall stone arches on the sides of the walls and an overarching big cupola. The whole space was illuminated by floating pumpkins and skulls with candles inside. Skeletons were standing everywhere, scaring poor first years by tapping them on the back of their shoulders and then suddenly starting to step dance when they turned around.

Oliver hadn’t disappointed them, there was enough booze for the whole course. Even so much that they had started drinking in advance and decided to ignore the dress code and conjure some costumes last minute. Murray was going as a monstrous chicken, which had at least the advantage that one could still see him from the other side of the room because of his enormous red comb. The others had dressed up in silly costumes too. Amanda was going as a Banshee and Marzia as Frankenstein’s bride. Elio hadn’t been as taken by the idea, but he didn’t want to spoil the evening, so he’d settled on his black coat and some plastic teeth. But as he wasn’t really fond of having some stupid plastic in his mouth for the whole evening and because no one even cared about that when he was walking around with a monstrous chicken by his side, they were safely tucked into his pocket now. According to Marzia he already looked enough like a vampire anyway.

What had started as a seemingly normal Halloween feast had now developed into a big party. McGonagall had been convinced by some of the other teachers to book a band, which was still playing on a stage where usually the teachers’ table stood. Most people had gathered in a big crowd and were dancing. Elio could see his friends stumble over their feet somewhere on the edge of the dance floor. Elio was still grinning like an idiot from what must have been the most excessive dancing he’d ever done. Who knew Hogwarts would be so fun?

Leaning against one of the stone pillars in the back of the Hall to catch his breath, Elio opened one of the fake pumpkin juice bottles that Oliver had smuggled in for them and took a sip. The Firewhisky burnt its way down his throat and left a warm feeling in his stomach. He’d definitely have to thank Oliver for that. At the thought of the American, Elio let his eyes wander about the hall. Most teachers sat horded into small groups at the tables. Some of them had even started a poker round.

Elio finally spotted him down at the bar in the company of none other but the headmistress herself. Oliver was gesturing vividly with his hands and smiling. But from the looks of it, McGonagall wasn’t amused. Not one bit.

Elio prayed that of all the things they could be talking about it wasn’t the content of the bottle that Oliver was currently waving through the air. But the American looked so unfazed by the stern looks the headmistress was giving him that Elio suspected Oliver himself had had one too many.

Elio leaned his head back against the pillar and closed his eyes. Now they’d really done it. They’d not only convinced a teacher to smuggle in alcohol for them, but also had gotten him drunk in the process. He chuckled to himself and took another swig of his bottle.

“What’s so funny?”

Elio didn’t open his eyes, but smiled at the familiar voice.

“Could ask you the same.”

He felt Oliver lean against the pillar too, their shoulders touching slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Looked like you were enjoying yourself with McGonagall.”

Oliver laughed quietly and Elio felt his heart flutter at the sound.

“Ah, you know good ol’ McGonagall, always fun to be around.”

Elio finally looked at him.

“She gave you any trouble?”

“Pf, I’m always in trouble with that woman. One week it’s my teaching style, the other the way I dress and then again I’m enjoying myself too much.”

“Did she find out about…?” Elio pointed to the bottle in his hand.

“She’s not stupid.”

“But does she know you did it?”

“You think I’d be standing here right now with my head still attached to my shoulders if she had any proof?” Oliver said.

Elio felt all his worries dissolve at the light tone in his voice. Had he feared that Oliver would regret helping them like he had kind of expected, then the huge grin that was currently splayed across Oliver’s lips taught him otherwise. He even looked proud of himself.

“So, was it worth it?” Elio asked.

Oliver leaned his shoulder against the pillar so his torso was turned to Elio and lifted his bottle.

“What do you think, _Perlman_?”

Elio smirked and raised his bottle in return, but then paused when Oliver leaned back his head to drink. He watched Oliver’s Adams apple move as he swallowed and Elio’s throat dried. Suddenly he got very aware of how close they were actually standing. He would just need turn to Oliver and they would be only centimetres apart. The air around them grew very hot and Elio felt waves of heat roll down his back. It only got worse when Oliver lowered the bottle again and gave him one of his million watt smiles.

“So, Perlman, already tired of dancing?”

Elio tugged his coat tighter around his body. “Just taking a break.”

“Don’t tell me you left Marzia standing all alone on the dance floor?”

Elio shrugged. “She can dance fine by herself.”

Oliver’s smile widened. “Is that so? I thought the two of you were a thing.”

Elio cleared his throat, unsure of where the sudden interest in his relationship with Marzia came from.

“Nah. Just friends”, he replied truthfully and took a big swig from his bottle.

Oliver’s intensive stares were starting to make him nervous. Elio had never seen the American act so off guard. It was frightening and exciting at the same time. He blamed the alcohol. He probably hadn’t had enough of it yet and Oliver definitely had had too much. He took another gulp of the Firewhiskey, in the hope it would drown the nervous feeling in his stomach.

“Just friends”, Oliver repeated slowly and looked at where Elio’s friends were currently having a dance off with some Ravenclaws, then he looked back at Elio and frowned. “Where’s your costume?”

Elio shot him a sarcastic glance. “This” he pulled at the collar of his coat “is my costume.”

“What, you supposed to be a wizard?”

“Very funny…Watch.” He pulled the plastic teeth out of his pocket and completed his costume.

“That’s…it? Really? Your friend is walking around as a fucking chicken and you settled on some plastic teeth?”

Elio tucked the teeth back in his coat and shrugged. “Figured it was enough if one of us was making a fool of himself.”

For a moment Oliver seemed like he wanted to protest but then the noise of loud cheering led their eyes to a very drunk Murray who was performing a step dance on top of a dinner table and who, as it was inevitable, was looking rather ridiculous in his costume.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right”, Oliver said and looked back at Elio. “Vampire does suit you, though, now that I think of it. You live in a castle full of ghosts, never go outside. Then you got that paleness, dark hair, sharp features, that mysterious aura…”

Elio didn’t know how to react. His sharp features? Really? What was that supposed to mean? It sounded like Oliver was listing off all the things he liked about him. Elio almost felt flattered. But then again, he probably was just reading things into it. Oliver was clearly drunk. He’d never lean that close to him and say those things if he were sober. Not that he was complaining. On the contrary, he was going to take advantage of every single moment Oliver was giving him. After all, weren’t people more likely to tell the truth when they were drunk?

Taking another swig of his Firewhisky he said, with as much playfulness as he could muster: “So what are you going as then? Prince Charming?”

Oliver laughed. “Nah…I am going as the hot art history teacher. Every high school girl’s wet dream.”

Elio choked on his drink and Oliver started laughing even harder. For the blink of a second Elio had a very graphic image of Oliver and himself, pressed up against the locked door of Oliver’s classroom like he had daydreamed about so many times in class before. Oliver’s hand buried in his hair, pulling his head back so he could lean down and run his lips down his throat. His other hand slowly wandering down his stomach, tugging at the end of his shirt.

Elio’s pants suddenly grew very tight and he quickly downed more of the Firewhisky.

“Yeah” he mumbled, his voice huskier than usual “I suppose that suits you.”

Oliver just chuckled and watched as the students on the dance floor started cheering loudly. For a few minutes there was silence between the two and Elio couldn’t figure out whether it was a good one or not.

“Shouldn’t you be with the other teachers or something?”

Oliver looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. “What, you trying to get rid of me, Perlman?”

“No, just thought that you might be bored.”

“How on earth could I be bored when I’m standing next to a vampire?”         

Elio scoffed, but couldn’t hide the relieved smile. He took another sip and shook the bottle, realizing it was near empty. He suppressed a sigh. There was no way he was gonna go and get a new one. Not when Oliver was standing right next to him. He followed Oliver’s gaze back to the dance floor and slowly started swaying to the music. Meeting the rhythm was a bit difficult, because his sense of balance was off but once he’d started moving it became even more difficult to stop.

At least he wasn’t embarrassing himself in front of all the others.

No, he was just swaying uncoordinatedly next to the ‘hot art history teacher’ he secretly had a crush on. Much better.

He tried to low-key slip into a casual posture again in which he would look more graceful than he currently did through his awkward dancing, but he didn’t estimate the distance to the column in his back correctly. Before he could catch his balance, his shoulder had slipped from the stone pillar and he collided with Oliver.

“Careful there”, Oliver said with a warm smile as he caught Elio, his fingers closing around Elio’s arm in a firm grip.

Elio needed a moment to regain his balance and untangle his feet. Then he realized that Oliver was still touching him. Slowly, Elio lifted his gaze and his breath hitched when he found himself incredibly close to the blonde. Oliver’s blue eyes were looking right at him and he was smiling. God, he was so beautiful when he smiled like that. His smile was so full of warmth as if he was smiling it just for Elio. Elio felt his heart skip a beat in a mixture of sweet pain and longing. If it wasn’t for Oliver’s strong hold on his arm, he’d probably just fall forwards and sink right against Oliver’s chest.

“How many of those did you already have?” Oliver asked, when Elio kept staring.

Elio blinked and slowly straightened up. “I don’t know. A few…”

Oliver sighed dramatically. “And here I was supposed to control the situation.”

Elio grinned. “Can’t control everything.”

Oliver’s smile faltered a bit and he looked back at the dance floor. “No you can’t.”

Elio stared at him, trying to figure out why that sounded like he was talking about something entirely different, but by now his head was starting to hurt when he tried to concentrate too hard so he let it go. Overall the air seemed to get heavier and heavier with every breath he took, and when he bent to put down the bottle, his vision doubled.

“You alright, Perlman?”

“I…think I’m gonna go outside for a bit”, Elio mumbled.

“Come on then, let’s get out of here.”

Before Elio could understand what was happening, Oliver had already taken his elbow and was pulling him out of the Great Hall.

Elio felt better the second they stepped into the yard outside and the fresh air hit his face. Relieved he pulled the coat off his shoulders, so he was left in just his t-shirt and could enjoy the cold air on his bare skin. Oliver led him to the fountain in the middle of the big square and Elio slowly lowered himself down on the edge of it. For a moment, Oliver just stood there, looking down at him, then he took a seat right next to Elio.

Elio felt his heart constrict when they came to sit side by side and their arms brushed against each other, igniting his skin with fire where they touched. Elio took a deep breath, but that only made it worse. Suddenly Oliver’s scent was everywhere. Sealing him off from air and smelling so good he never wanted to breathe anything else.

Elio felt like he was drowning in Oliver.

His hands were shaking when he reached for his cigarettes and he needed half a dozen tries to light it up. The smoke calmed his nerves at least a bit, but his heart was still racing.

“Want one?”

He pulled out another one and Oliver took it, leaning towards him so Elio could light it.

“I thought you didn’t smoke?”

“I don’t”, Oliver said, shooting him a sly grin before he took a deep drag.

Elio watched mesmerized as Oliver exhaled slowly. He couldn’t understand how everything the American did looked so elegant.

Oliver broke the silence after a while: “You should do more with art.”

Elio blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Take some more classes, I don’t know something extracurricular, just _do_ something. Your understanding of art, the way you talk about it…” He shook his head. “Your talent is wasted in class.”

Elio would have laughed, had Oliver not sounded so serious. He wanted to say that all he knew was based on what his parents had taught him and that he played a bit of music on top. But downplaying himself didn’t feel right. It would have undermined the compliment Oliver was obviously making him.

So he just shrugged and said: “Well, I’m already taking art history and music class. There’s nothing else here I can do.”

Oliver sighed and he sounded frustrated. “Yeah, I know. Not much of an artistic school, is it?”

“Yeah.”

“You know what, what about I start some extra classes? I could teach you how to replicate art works.”

Elio’s head shot up. “You’d do that?”

“You interested?”

“Are you joking? Of course!”

Oliver smiled warmly at him and Elio couldn’t believe his luck.

A few minutes they just sat there in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Extra classes with Oliver. Extra hours in which it would be just the two of them. He should have been happy about the opportunity Oliver offered him to learn more about arts. But all he could think about, was all the time he would be able to spend alone with Oliver.

Alone with Oliver.

Just like right now.

Elio leaned his head back to exhale and stared at the dark sky. They were sitting so close to each other that he could _feel_ the warmth radiating off Oliver’s body and it scattered goose bumps all over his skin. The closeness was almost unbearable. He felt like he would explode if he wasn’t going to act on the sudden urge to throw himself at Oliver. Of all the possible ways it could go wrong, what if it actually went _right_? After all, Oliver had just offered to spend more time with him. So he _had_ to like Elio. All the possibilities that could arise if he just took the risk right now…

He carefully glanced at Oliver from under his hair and found the American staring at him. Oliver didn’t look away when their eyes met. And neither did Elio. He just stared right back, his heart beat slowly increasing, but his body frozen, waiting for something to happen. Silence stretched between them, but this time there was no doubt that it was a good one. There was something in the way Oliver looked at him – with his lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to breathe, with his eyes unblinking and his pupils blown – that finally drew Elio closer. In the back of his head, the small part that was left of his rational thinking was screaming at him to pull back, that he was misinterpreting the moment. But Elio didn’t pay attention to it. All his senses were fixed on Oliver now.

Oliver.

Oliver, who was mind-blowingly handsome.

Oliver, who was so close to him now like he probably never would be again.

Elio bit his lip.

God, he just wanted to lean in and press his mouth against Oliver’s lips.

He wanted to kiss him so badly.

Slowly, Elio lifted the cigarette to his lips, hoping it would calm his nerves so he could finally gather the courage. He took a deep drag, holding the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling again through his nose. When it didn’t help he took another one. And another one. His eyes fixed on Oliver, he impatiently waited for the calming effect, but it didn’t kick in. Rather it made him feel sick. Before he knew it, his head was spinning and nausea crept up his throat. Elio broke their gaze and tried to breathe, but Oliver’s scent was suffocating him like a cloud of hallucinogenic drugs and the dreadful feeling wouldn’t cease. Trying, but failing miserably to suppress the sudden urge to throw up, Elio turned to put out his cigarette and mumbled: “I…I think I’m going back inside.”

Elio slowly stood and Oliver looked up at him in concern. For a split second he seemed almost fearful. But then Elio started to sway and Oliver quickly reached out to steady him.

“What’s going on?”

“I think I’m…I feel sick…” Elio said and pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, trying his best to stand up straight.

Oliver was on his feet before he could finish his sentence, a new look of concern on his face. He put his arm around Elio’s shoulders and carefully helped him back to the entrance.

“It’s okay…I’m…okay, I can handle…myself”, Elio protested softly, when Oliver led him inside and towards the closest bathroom.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to. I’m the one who’s supposed to have an eye on you all, remember?” Oliver said and pushed him into the bathroom and towards the toilet stalls.

“I don’t…I can do this…on my own”, Elio mumbled ashamed and tried to pull Oliver’s hands off his shoulders.

“Sure you can”, Oliver said, not even acknowledging Elio’s attempts at pushing him away.

“But I don’t wanna…I don’t…want you to…see…”

His protests were cut short, when his stomach rebelled so heavily he started heaving and suddenly he was the one rushing forwards. He fell to his knees and leaned over the toilet just in time to throw up the whole bottle of Firewhisky.

When it finally stopped he had tears in his eyes and his arms were shaking. All that was left was a sour taste in his mouth and he felt terrible.

He felt pathetic.

“M’ sorry”, he said quietly, not daring to turn around and face Oliver.

He was met with deafening silence. Elio dragged his hand over his eyes. Probably he’d already left. Who wanted to witness one of their students throw up anyway? Elio hadn’t even thought that thought to an end, when a strong arm wrapped himself around Elio’s upper body and he was pulled to his feet. Oliver carefully steered him to the sink and reached around him to get the water running. Not saying anything he just waited and held him upright, while Elio slowly started cleaning his mouth.

“God I feel so stupid”, Elio whispered under his breath and looked at Oliver through the mirror. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah, one more drink and it would have been me you would have had to carry here”, Oliver joked and a soft smile broke free on his face.

He tousled Elio’s hair, before he took a step back and said: “You should go back up and get some sleep.”

Elio shook his head. “I don’t wanna go to sleep, I’ll just throw up again if I lie down now.”

Oliver regarded him for a few seconds then he nodded. “Alright, let’s go get you something against the nausea then. I think I still have some medicine against it in my office.”

Elio nodded and followed him out of the bathroom. They made their way to Oliver’s classroom on the fourth floor in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Elio had no idea what Oliver was thinking about, but his head was a mess. He’d come so close. So unbelievable close. He couldn’t decide whether he should feel disappointed because he’d messed it up so gloriously or euphoric that he had come so close at all. Probably the last one.

Elio watched Oliver unlock the door to his classroom with an effortless flick of his wand.

Yeah. Definitely the last one.

He followed the American inside and then up the stairs in the back of the room to his office. It didn’t go unnoticed by Elio that Oliver unlocked that door too. Had he noticed someone had been in his office? Had he noticed that one of the notes on his desk was gone? Elio bit back a grin. That small paper was his now. It was safely hidden in the drawer next to his bed until he figured out what context Oliver had taken it from.

“You gonna come in?” Oliver asked, already going through the contents of his desk drawer.

Elio nodded and stepped into the room. It was still as chaotic and messy as the last time. Books and papers covered every available surface in a manner that would have given any librarian a heart attack. But Oliver didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even warn Elio to not touch anything and so Elio allowed himself to wander around a bit. He still didn’t dare to touch anything, this time because he felt too tipsy to not knock over one of the book stacks. But he did take his time and inspected everything closer. When he’d reached the other end of the room he turned and looked around. Oliver’s realm. It had been exciting the last time he’d been in here. But now that Oliver was there too, the picture finally seemed complete.

Elio watched as Oliver lined up a couple of bottles and inspected their contents. He could easily imagine the blonde sitting at his desk, scribbling into one of his many note books. Just as easily Elio could imagine the blonde leaning against said desk and kissing the living hell out of him.

Elio grinned dumbly at the image and cleared his throat.

“Cosy in here”, he said, to stop his mind from wandering.

Oliver threw him a glance over his shoulder and smirked. “Yeah, I worked hard on getting this place so comfy.” He turned around and handed Elio a small flask that contained a clear liquid. “Here, drink that.”

Elio complied without hesitation and downed the whole content. He regretted his haste the second the liquid ran down his throat.

“It tastes awful!”

“What did you expect, strawberry flavour?”

Elio just glared at him and Oliver smirked. “Sit down for a bit. The effect takes a while.”

There was only one chair in the room, the one in front of Oliver’s desk, and to Elio’s delight it still had Oliver’s coat thrown over the backrest. So, when Elio lowered himself into it, he once again was fully enwrapped in Oliver scent. Even with Oliver standing right in front of him, it was hard to not just close his eyes and let himself sink into it. The scent reminded him of the clear summer nights he’d spend at the sea in Italy, with the fresh wind brushing over the water; the smell of the ground that had been heating up throughout the day by the sun, the clean soap his mother used in France. It was intoxicating.

It took him a while to shake off the dizzy feeling. Oliver probably dismissed his demeanour as part of the effect of the medicine or his drunk state. He was still leaning with his back against the desk and looked down at him. Elio had difficulties interpreting the expression on his face. His eyes seemed blank, as though he was far away with his thoughts and his mouth was frozen in a straight line. There was no trace of the smile he usually wore, even when he wasn’t laughing.

Elio didn’t say anything. He just waited, patiently, for Oliver to say something first. When the American finally did, his voice had a touch of bitterness to it.

“I should have paid more attention.”

Elio needed a moment to understand what he was saying, before he shrugged. “I should have been more careful. Usually I know my limits.”

Absentmindedly Elio traced the sleeve of Oliver’s coat with his fingers, waiting for Oliver to respond, but when he didn’t, he said: “But I’m fine”, he gave Oliver an honest smile. “I had a good evening.”

Oliver regarded him for a few moments, seemingly trying to figure out whether Elio was just saying that to cheer him up. But when Elio kept smiling at him, his expression softened and _finally,_ there was the smile Elio had wanted to see so much.

“You don’t regret you didn’t spend your night with Murray the Chicken on the dance floor?”

Elio grinned. “I don’t regret anything.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, of course. There was one thing he did regret. One moment in which he should have just trusted his intuition and leaned forward instead of pulling back.

“Though I’m sure we definitely missed out on a great dance off between Murray and McGonagall.”

The ‘we’ rolled easy off his tongue, as if it was meant to describe the two of them like that. Like there was some sense of belonging between them.

Oliver chuckled. “I guess we did.”

There it was again, that magical word. We.

Elio leaned back his head and closed his eyes. We.

A new word in his collection of moments with Oliver.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even realize he was slowly falling asleep, until Oliver softly shook him awake.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, kid.”

“Sorry”, Elio mumbled as he stifled a yawn and tried to open his eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the Gryffindor tower. You need sleep.”

“Mh, don’t wanna”, Elio protested, but Oliver wouldn’t have it. Without much effort he lifted him out of the chair and onto his feet.

“Yeah you do. Come on.”

Elio smirked in tired satisfaction when Oliver once again helped him on their way out, relishing in the way the American wrapped both his hands around Elio’s arms to steady him. He ascribed his sudden fatigue to the potion Oliver had given him. He could barely even keep his eyes open.

Later he couldn’t have said how they made it to the seventh floor. All he remembered was Oliver’s strong hold on him and, once he lied in his bed, drifting to sleep, the soft way Oliver had smiled at him in front of the portrait and said:

“Later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> !!!VIVA THE SLOW BURN!!!
> 
> PS: Do I need to go into hiding now? :D
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!!  
> It's been nearly a month and I am sooooo sorry I left you all waiting!  
> But the last few weeks have been crazy stressful with Bachelor Thesis and moving and as much as I want to promise you that it's gonna be better now, I still have two weeks of so much stress in front of me so PLEASE bear with me. There WILL be updates, just not as fast as in the beginning.
> 
> Now about the chapter: Originally we planned to write it as one really big chapter that would make up for the long wait, but life...  
> So we decided to just give you the first part of it that's already done. (yey)
> 
> I'm really really happy about all the response and comments and I promise I will try to answer every single one of them from now on!
> 
> Enjoy!

Elio was happy. Not in an agitated, euphoric kind of way. Just in a deep, calm, content kind of way. Like when everything is just perfectly alright and there are no worries on your mind. When time, space, temperature and sound just fuse into one warm buzzing feeling, creating the perfect moment. Yeah, Elio was happy.

He was leaning against one of the pillars a bit offside, watching as the others danced vividly to some rock song he didn’t know. The music was deafening and Elio couldn’t understand a single word, but he didn’t mind. He was happy where he was at. Absentmindedly turning the peach in his hand, he looked around the Great Hall. Not a single person was sitting, everybody was up and dancing, celebrating what had to be the greatest Halloween party Elio had ever been to. Some of them wore their black wizard hats and were dancing around a giant tree in the middle of the hall. Swarms of fireflies rose from its green crown, circling upwards to the high ceiling where they disappeared into a plane of blending blue and purple colours, becoming small spots of lights in an infinite galaxy. The sight was breath taking and disorienting at the same time, and Elio had to advert his gaze to regain his balance.

With everything around him being in some kind of motion it was easy to become distracted, but his eyes always landed back on the many Greek statues that were lined up on the walls around the hall. Their faces held a striking resemblance with his favourite American and his million-watt smile, and they filled him with a sweet kind of longing that made him restless. A longing that made him wish he could just push away from the pillar in his back and leave the hall. Follow his feeling outside to…somewhere, someone…

He hadn’t even finished thinking that thought when the scent that was so unmistakably Oliver’s filled his nose, immediately shutting off everything around him. Elio whipped his head around and there he was. In his blue shirt, the first three buttons undone as always, and wearing his impossible shorts. He came running down the side of the hall, the radiant smile on his face that Elio loved so much. And he came running directly towards Elio.

“Perlman”, he said in a greeting, when he stopped in front of him and leaned forwards, supporting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Elio didn’t say anything. He just stared in awe. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering Oliver’s skin, making it shine in the light, and he was breathing heavily, like he’d just run a marathon around the Great Lake.

“You gonna eat that?”

Elio followed Oliver’s gaze to the peach in his hand. Grinning, he shook his head and handed it to him. Oliver’s fingers brushed over his in a touch that was more intimate than anywhere near appropriate and Elio felt his heart jump. Oliver smirked knowingly and straightened. Elio watched in trance as the blonde sunk his teeth into the round fruit, never breaking eye contact. Only Elio had to. He had to look away so he could watch the juice drip from Oliver’s chin and run down his hand.

That was it. Staring at Oliver from afar every single day, never being able to touch him was already anything but fair, but this…this was unbearable. No, it was outrageous. And he knew. Oliver knew. Elio could see it in his face. That self-assured smirk – that glint in his eyes told him Oliver knew exactly what kind of effect he had on Elio. No, Elio could only bear so much and this…he couldn’t let this stand.

His hand shot out and grabbed Oliver by the collar, pulling him down so they were on the same level. His other hand reached for Oliver’s chin, pushing his head back. Then he leaned in and licked his way up Oliver’s throat, following the sweet trail with his tongue upwards to the line of Oliver’s jaw. Glancing up through his lashes he shot Oliver a challenging look, daring him to pull back.

Oliver did no such thing.

The wrinkles around his eyes disappeared, as did the smile around his lips. For a second they stared at each other, both motionless. And then, suddenly, Oliver’s hands were on Elio’s collar, grabbing him so hard he was left breathless. Pulling him closer, nearly lifting him off his feet in the process. And then Oliver kissed him. He kissed him, hard, and there was so much force and want behind the kiss that Elio was completely overwhelmed.

Oliver wanted him.

Oliver wanted him just as much as he wanted Oliver.

Elio felt his back crash against the pillar, his eyes tightly shut, drowning in the feeling of utter surprise and joy and pleasure. And then he burst back to the surface. Wrapping his hands around Oliver’s neck, he pulled the American closer and answered the kiss, taking what he’d wanted to take for so fucking long. Oliver moaned at the eager response. Their lips melted together in a hot mess that made Elio forget everything around them. There was just him and Oliver.  

Oliver, kissing him. Oliver, wanting him. Oliver, wanting Elio.

Elio tightened his hold around Oliver’s neck, digging his fingers deeper into the blonde’s firm muscles and he could hear Oliver _growl_ in response. An instinctive and primal sound Elio had only ever fantasised about before. It was a sound that went straight to his groin and there was no way Oliver didn’t feel it. Elio couldn’t have given less fucks. Should he feel it. Hell, he wanted Oliver to feel what he did to him, to his mind, to his body. He wanted Oliver to _know_ how much he affected him.

Sure enough, he felt Oliver chuckle against his throat and then he moved even closer, until he was pressed flush against him, leaving no inch of Elio untouched. Elio hissed at the contact. Oliver pushed his thigh in between Elio’s legs, right up against where Elio needed him the most. He moaned and Oliver grinned against his lips. Slowly, he started to grind his leg against Elio’s growing hardness, further fuelling the wildfire of craving and desire in Elio, who could only hold on to Oliver, kissing him and meeting his movements with desperate need. He was whispering incomprehensible pleas against Oliver’s lips, begging for him to move faster, to touch him, to just…do something _more_. Oliver had mercy on him and, finally, slipped his hand inside his pants, moving closer and closer to where Elio wanted him. And Elio was close, even though he’d barely been touched, he was so close already, because it was Oliver who was touching him…and then, the moment Oliver’s hand should have reached its destination, he woke up.

Alone.

In his bed.

Without Oliver.

Elio shoved his hand between his stomach and the matrass.

“Fuck.”

Elio buried his face in his pillow, annoyed with himself. Amazing. Having a wet dream about his teacher like an immature teenager in a shared dormitory. Fucking amazing.

He rolled over on his back and clumsily felt for his wand on the bedside table. One spell and the mess was gone, but Elio didn’t feel clean. The dream-memory of Oliver’s hands was already fading, but for the moment he could still feel the hot touch of his fingers on his skin and the arousal it had sparked. It had felt so real. Oliver wanting him. Elio stared against the ceiling of his bed and the longer he spent reliving the dream, the wider he started to smile. He didn’t care that it had been just a dream. He didn’t care if the thoughts it triggered were just a stupid fantasy. For a short amount of time he’d _felt_ what it would be like to be desired by Oliver in the same way Elio desired him. Real or not, the effect was electric. He felt so happy he suddenly could no longer lie still. In a fluid motion he shot off the bed and grabbed his clothes to head for the bathroom. But then he paused. The others were all asleep. Without exception, every one of the boys he shared the dormitory with, was still out cold. Elio could hear Murray from the other side of the room, snoring like a freight train. There was a distinctive smell of booze hovering over the room and that finally snapped Elio out of his thoughts. Images of last night invaded his mind, vivid and colourful and Elio sank back on the edge of his bed.

He’d spent the whole evening with Oliver.

He’d had a few sips too many and then he’d so gloriously fucked up…but before – before he’d been with Oliver the whole time and he’d nearly kissed him. Elio couldn’t stifle the soft laugh of disbelief rising his throat. He really must have been drunk to make advances on a teacher. But to think that he had come so close…

Elio ran his hands through his hair, trying to wrap his head around what had happened last night and what it actually meant. Oliver had come to him, like he wanted to be with _him_ and not any of the others. Maybe, just maybe, Oliver enjoyed his company more than Elio had hoped for. Elio swallowed deeply. What if that meant he had interpreted the moment outside rightfully? After all, had Oliver not leaned in too? Had he?

As soon as that idea had formed in his head, Elio couldn’t let go of it. Whether it was just wishful thinking or because his latest dream had provided him with some confidence, the thought stayed and Elio pondered it relentlessly over the next few days. He couldn’t wait for the next art history lesson to come and finally be in the same room as Oliver again. He needed some kind of validation that the moment between them had actually happened. And even more so, he needed some kind of reaction from Oliver that would explain what it all meant.

He didn’t get any hints before class. Whenever he tried to catch a glimpse of Oliver’s facial expression during the meals, Oliver was either staring down at his plate or not present at all. At first, Elio hoped it was because he had a hangover. Which was strange, considering he’d spared Elio of the biggest hangover of his life with that potion and probably had more for himself. But on Tuesday morning when Oliver still wouldn’t really respond to any of the teachers beside him and stayed rather introverted, Elio started to get nervous. What if he didn’t remember? Or, even worse, what if he didn’t care? He seemed like he had other things on his mind. More important things than having spent an evening with a drunk student and shared some awkwardly intimate moments. And so, just as easily as the dream and the memory of the party had lifted his spirit, the waiting and overthinking crushed it again.

When the time came to enter the classroom, this time punctual, with everybody else, Elio was so unsure of what to expect that he felt as though everything depended on whether Oliver would look at him or not.

He did.

Look at him.

For one, gut-wrenching long moment, their gazes met and Oliver looked at him. With those blue eyes that pulled everyone in and swallowed their hearts with ease. With his brows furrowed and his lips open in something that seemed like a surprised inhale. Oliver looked at him and for a second Elio dared to hope that seeing him would turn that frown on Oliver’s face into a smile, like it usually did in class.

It didn’t.

Oliver cast down his eyes, back on the papers in his hands, and Elio fell hard into his chair.

Class began, without any trace of all the magic Elio had come to identify with this room.

It wasn’t like Oliver outright ignored him. He did glance at him, from time to time. When he let his eyes wander about the class, he would look at Elio just as long as at everyone else. And Elio was sure that if he raised his hand, Oliver would listen to what he had to say.

But he didn’t ask.

He didn’t confront him, didn’t indulge him in one of their usual witty conversations. He didn’t seek his contribution in class like usual.

Elio wasn’t as hurt as he was lost. If Oliver hadn’t experienced the same moment rising, fine. He could live with that. If he was oblivious to what the moment could have turned into, so what. But why on earth would he act so estranged then? If he had no idea, why…? And if he did? Elio ran his hand through his hair and stifled a frustrated sigh. The sound scored him a glance from Oliver, but only a short one. He immediately concentrated back on Murray. Elio dropped his gaze to Oliver’s hands clutching the edges of the table he was sitting on. If Oliver knew, then he wouldn’t act like this. If he had known what kind of intentions Elio had had, he would have stopped him immediately and not kept staring. He would have looked him dead in the eye and told him that it was not alright, because that was the kind of a person Oliver was, wasn’t he? Open, direct and never afraid to speak his mind. And, overall, caring. Elio couldn’t imagine that he would have been angry. Just direct. He would have told him no, just like he would have looked at him now with a resolute expression on his face. But he didn’t look resolute now. He looked…almost…guilty.

Guilty.

Of what?

Nothing had happened… Elio had just gotten very drunk, nearly kissed him and the fucked it all up by throwing up.

Maybe that was exactly the point. Oliver felt guilty for getting him drunk and sick.

But did that also mean, he’d only stayed with Elio, because he’d felt guilty and felt it was his duty to have an eye on him?

Had it not been for all the others sitting around him and Oliver being in the same room, Elio would have buried his face in his hands like the depressed and panicking teenager he felt like right in this moment.

That was it.

Guilt.

Fucking guilt.

Elio felt his throat constrict in anguish as the thought ate its way from his mind to his heart like acid. Burning down every trace of stupid happiness he’d felt in the last days. Oliver had just stayed with him, because he had been worried about his well-being, thinking _he_ had been the one who was to blame. Elio couldn’t wrap his head around how one person could do something so kind as to stay and take care of someone and still hurt that someone so badly with that one good deed. He’d wanted Oliver to cross the line between them so much. But now the disappointment that Oliver hadn’t come near it at all, hurt him more than if Oliver had turned him down.

By the end of class, Elio hadn’t looked at Oliver in over thirty minutes, which must have been a new record for him. He spent his time spiralling between the urge to smash his head against the wall to quiet his thoughts or storm out of the classroom. Both ideas didn’t seem like they would make him feel better. And when the others got up from their seats, leaving suddenly sounded like the last thing he wanted to do.

With much effort, Elio tore his eyes from his table. Oliver had his back turned to the leaving students and was arranging some papers on his desk that didn’t look like they needed organising. Elio slowly stood. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t let that strange atmosphere stand between them like that. He’d go crazy over it in the next days, he already knew it. And so, although it seemed like a never ending walk and his shoulders felt heavy, he made his way up to the front of the classroom.

Oliver didn’t turn around, when Elio stopped behind him. Maybe he didn’t hear him. Maybe he just hoped he would disappear. It seemed like the latter was the case, because he had stopped going through his papers.

“Um” Elio cleared his throat and it sounded small and faint in the empty room. “I was wondering…could I…could I talk to you, please?”

God, why did he have to say please in such a pleading way? He didn’t need to sound like he was begging Oliver to talk to him. Which he basically was, but he didn’t want Oliver to know that. Oliver finally turned and gave him a smile. But it was fake. Elio could have made it out as fake from miles away. It didn’t reach his eyes. It barely touched the corners of his lips.

“Of course, what’s up?”

Elio cleared his throat and again it was just as fruitless in giving his voice a stronger note.

“I just wanted you to know that…that…” What? What did he want Oliver to know? For fucks sake, Elio thought, get a grip on yourself already. “I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to feel guilty or anything”, he finally managed to say.

Oliver blanched. He stared at Elio like a deer caught in headlights, all traces of his indifferent mask gone and Elio thought he finally had the proof that his fears had been right. He felt guilty. Of course he did. Fucking perfect Oliver. Got a student he cared about so drunk he threw up. Of course he felt guilty. Probably worried that Elio blamed him, too. Fucking fantastic.

“What are you talking about?” Oliver said, his voice for some reason sounding just as hoarse.

“You know, Halloween”, Elio said. “It wasn’t your fault, you know? I know, you said you wanted to keep an eye on how much we drink. It’s just, usually I know my limits. I…I’m sorry I threw up and I’m sorry you felt like you had to stay with me. I didn’t want to spoil your evening, I…I’m sorry, really, I didn’t mean to…”

He was rambling. He knew he was, but he couldn’t stop himself. If there was one chance to fix this, it was now.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Just…don’t feel guilty, alright? This was totally on me.”

Oliver’s facial expression had changed from shock to complete worry and, there it was again, guilt. Elio’s heart sank. Was there no way he could just turn back the clock and make everything alright again? Make Oliver like him again? He just wanted Oliver to like him. And after all, nothing had happened, for fucks sake. He’d thrown up, so what? No big deal! Why was Oliver acting so fucking strange?

For a long moment, Oliver seemed at loss for words, struggling just as Elio with what he wanted to say.

“I…you didn’t…spoil my evening”, he finally said, quietly, but pronouncing every word with great care.

“I didn’t?” Elio asked, not quite believing what he was hearing.

Oliver sighed deeply and he sounded strangely relieved. When he looked at Elio, his eyes were suddenly filled with so much warmth that Elio already felt the weight drop from his shoulders, even before his mind caught up with Oliver’s words.

“Of course you didn’t”, he said and finally the smile on his lips was real. “You kept me from embarrassing myself on the dance floor, I consider that a huge success.”

Elio smiled weakly. “I doubt you could have pulled that off with Murray on the same dance floor.”

“Oh, believe me I could have. My dancing is terrible. Really terrible. Worse than anything you could imagine…”

Elio was so relieved that Oliver was back to his old self and joking around again that he didn’t bother laughing. He just smiled at Oliver, happy that it was alright again. That Oliver still liked him. Because he needed Oliver to like him. Elio hadn’t realized how much, before. But now it was clear to him. There was nothing better in the world than being on the receiving end of that smile Oliver was giving him right now.

“So” Oliver said, when the silence stretched “now that I have revealed my greatest weakness, is there anything else you wanna talk about or can we call it a day?”

“Actually, there is one more thing”, Elio said. There were a thousand more things, really, but those he definitely couldn’t talk about. “About the extra classes…”

“Ah, I see. You didn’t forget about that, did you?”

“Course not.”

“Still interested?”

Elio just rolled his eyes.

“I take that as a yes.”

Oliver scratched the back of his head, obviously trying to think how he would get out of this one. Should he try. There was no way, Elio would let him off the hook that easily. Not when everything was back to normal now. No, he would get his extra hours.

“Fine, I can’t promise anything regular yet, but” Oliver lifted his hand in defence when Elio wanted to protest “but I can make some time this Sunday.”

“Okay!”

“You’d have to show up in the morning, though.”

“No problem!”

“And it’s only gonna be an hour max.”

“I don’t care.”

Oliver chuckled. “Alright then. This classroom, nine o’ clock, Sunday morning.”

“I’ll be there”, Elio said, grinning widely.

“Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here and go eat something, Perlman.”

“Yes, Sir!” Elio replied, putting some extra emphasis on the last word, before he turned around and stormed out of the room.

The last thing he could see was Oliver shaking his head, either at himself for agreeing to the extracurricular classes or at Elio’s overenthusiastic response. But Elio didn’t care. He was so happy he couldn’t contain the smile spreading on his face. Additional hours with Oliver alone. Oliver could say what he want, Elio would get him to make something regular out of this. And this time, he would not waste any more chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I know you all want some "more" than just fluff and angst and whatnot, but they're not readyyyy yet!!!
> 
> StellarBubble, my wonderful beta and person who constantly pushes this story forwards, and I have a clear structure in our heads, so it's not like we're torturing you on purpose :P (ok, maybe a bit^^)
> 
> Hope you liked it
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

I AM BACK

And because I know there is no explanation that is good enough to apologize for letting you all down for nearly eight months, I won't even try^^

Here it is, the next chapter, sorry it took so long *_* Let's see who still remembers this story...

Thank you to all who kept commenting and asking for updates and especially thank you to StellarBubble, who will kill me if I stop updating again^^

Dunno when the next chapter will come, but if takes more than a month you're all allowed to start a witch hunt.

With that said, enjoy! xx

* * *

 

 

Chapter 11

Sleep had turned into Elio’s new favourite activity. It was easily just as good as staring at Oliver in class. Maybe even a tiny bit better. Since that night after Halloween, Oliver had invaded his dreams every single night in one form or the other. Sometimes the two were simply talking and all Elio could remember the next morning were Oliver’s voice and his smile. On other mornings he would have to clean the sheets again and take a long cold shower. Elio didn’t care. Every moment spent with Oliver in his dreams was better than anything his waking hours could offer him. He started oversleeping his alarm, just to extend the time he spent in Oliver’s arms. And it was worth it every… single… time.

That was the reason why Elio was late for their meeting on Sunday morning. It should have been ridiculous to nearly miss out on the opportunity to spend time with the person he had a crush on because he had been dreaming about them. But this morning he’d woken up with an especially vivid scene in his mind and it’d been impossible to leave his bed and that image with it.

Now he was late and he was rushing to the classroom, his cheeks flushed and his hair still damp from the shower. He’d nearly finished drying it with a spell, when he finally reached the classroom. He didn’t bother knocking but just barged right in and directly collided with Oliver, who had been on his way to the door, his eyes on his watch.

“For god’s sake, Perlman!” Oliver cursed and peeled the boy off his chest. “A mere ‘Good morning’ would have sufficed. You nearly knocked me over!”

Elio grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Professor. Didn’t mean to.”

Oliver shook his head in amusement. “Good thing you’re a lightweight. Come on.” He turned and Elio followed him to the front of the classroom. “Nearly thought you wouldn’t show up”, Oliver told him over his shoulder.

“What, and miss the chance of my life to learn how to confuse unsuspecting students with Japanese mass-produced pavilions?”

Oliver threw him a glare. “It was Chinese.”

Elio smirked. “Whatever.”

“ ‘Whatever’ is not going to be enough today,” Oliver said and showed him a block of wood on his desk. “For what I’m about to show you, you’ll need to pay close attention to details."

“Yes, Sir,” Elio said, still grinning.

He was still a bit dazed by their earlier collision. Oliver’s scent was so prominent that it kept reminding him of his dream. But then the American started to explain how the transformation spell worked and Elio felt his curiosity for the subject return. Oliver was talking with such interest and passion that it became obvious why he’d chosen to spend his year teaching. He clearly loved what he was doing and his enthusiasm easily leapt over to whoever listened to him.

"What I’m about to show you is its very own kind of transfiguration. It’s not at all as scientific and precise as what you do in your transfiguration classes. When it’s art, it’s not so much a spell, but an image you construct in your mind. You see, you don’t express what you want to show through words and memory, but through your imagination, through your emotions. It’s your impression of the art work that matters, not your analytical perception. If you practice enough, you’ll be able to construct art works you’ve never even seen before. Places you’ve never been to in person. Sculptures of people, creatures which don’t exist anywhere but in your imagination! For now, we’ll concentrate on easier things, though.”

He motioned for Elio to lift his wand and then proceeded to explain all the necessary movements. There was a spell, but just like Oliver had explained, it was less about the words and more about his imagination. Elio did his best to repeat everything after Oliver. But of course it wasn’t that simple. It never was with the really interesting things. While it did remind Elio of transfiguration where they’d had to change one object into another, doing the same with art turned out to be much more exhausting. His first attempt at copying a simple toy figure failed miserably.

Elio didn’t give up though. Because Oliver didn’t give up on him. There was no judgement, no annoyance in his reactions to Elio’s below average results. He just kept explaining the same thing over and over again, showing more patience than Elio had ever seen on him.

Elio hadn’t thought it possible to adore Oliver even more.

Now he did.

“It’s just time and practice, really,” Oliver said after yet another failed attempt. “Like learning a new language or practicing how to draw. It’s all about motion memory. Come here, let me show you.”

Elio had no time to freak out about the possibilities that ‘Come here’ and ‘let me show you’ entailed, when Oliver had already reached for his shoulder and pulled him closer in the best way imaginable.

“Approach it the way you approach your music,” Oliver said, stepping behind him. “First, relax.”

He proceeded to give him a whole lot more of good advice but Elio’s concentration was gone the moment he came to a stumbling halt with his back to Oliver’s chest. Whether Oliver actually was invading his personal space didn’t matter. All Elio could feel was Oliver’s hand still resting on his shoulder, pressing down with way too much force, weakening his knees, pushing all strength out of his bones. And all he could hear was Oliver’s calm voice, muttering instructions behind him, sounding much huskier in his ear than it probably was. Elio felt himself drifting back to his latest dream and there was no way to stop his mind from wandering. He was lost, so lost to this man that he was sure it would hurt if it didn’t feel so good.

“You still with me?”

“Yeah,” Elio rasped out, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, I’m trying.”

“It’s okay, don’t be so tense,” Oliver said and gently squeezed his arm. “Just relax like you do when you compose. It’s never so much about the single notes as it is about your intuition when it comes to your music, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Elio lifted his wand and forced his attention back on the task. Clearing his head was difficult but he’d be cursed if he would keep failing like this and keep wasting Oliver’s time. And so he tried and tried, and tried again. Over and over again. And over and over again did he fail.

“Like I said, it’s all about-”

“Practice, yeah.” Elio sighed and stepped around the table, poking his indefinable result with the tip of his wand, causing it to melt like hot chocolate.

Oliver hid an amused smirk at Elio’s obvious frustration. With a flick of his own wand the fluid transformed back into a block of wood, before changing into marble and forming the head of some famous wizard philosopher whose name was lost on Elio.

“You make it look so simple.”

“Wouldn’t be the teacher here if I couldn’t do that,” Oliver teased him. “And while it might not look like it, you really are doing fine for the start, Elio. It’s nothing you’ll get the hang of after the first few times of trying. And it won’t get easier once you’ve mastered the basics. I mostly replicate things that I have seen. Things I’ve touched. Conjuring something that you’ve only ever seen on a photograph on the other hand – or even something that only lives in my imagination – is… well let’s say it’s much more difficult.”

“What if it’s the image of a person you really like?” Elio asked, before he could stop himself. “Someone who means a lot to you and who you think about all the time? Would that help? You said it’s more about your intuition, about your emotions than the technique.”

Oliver paused at the sudden question. For a moment he pondered over it. When he answered, he kept his eyes fixed on the sculpture between them.

“I guess that helps, yeah. Like you said, it’s about emotion… Why, you got someone special in your life, Perlman?”

The way Oliver wouldn’t look at him when he asked that question made Elio smirk. He couldn’t really put his finger on the reason for the sudden burst of pride but the fact that Oliver showed interest in him like that was an ego boost he would gladly take. If he was to close his eyes and replay Oliver’s question in his head he probably could almost hear the jealousy in Oliver’s voice. Jealousy. What he wouldn’t give to see that expression take over Oliver’s reserved features. What he wouldn’t give to prove that feeling wrong then. But of course Oliver’s face remained a perfect mask of calm and indifference.

“Well, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Elio said, shrugging. “Maybe.”

Of course I got someone special in my life, idiot, he thought. He’s standing right in front of me and would look terrific as a marble statue with no clothes on. The thought made Elio grin so hard his cheeks hurt. Oliver regarded that grin for a moment, working his jaws in a painful looking way. Then he nodded slowly and forced a cheerful expression on his face.

“Well, I guess in that case it would be much easier, yes. Just like a patronus. The happier the memory or the clearer your image, your knowledge of that person, the better the end result. Would you like to try? A sculpture should be more difficult than a toy but if you really think you have such strong… devotion. Who knows, it might actually work.”

Elio quickly shook his head. “Nah. Not before I know the basics. Don’t wanna screw it up, you know.”

Oliver seemed relieved. “Good. I mean, right. Listen, Elio… I know I promised you an hour but-”

“You’ve got better things to do,” Elio interrupted him. “I get it.”

“It’s not that they are better things. Quite the opposite, to be honest. But I do still have some papers to correct.”

“Papers?” Elio repeated, not trying to conceal his obvious doubts. “Since when do you do real teacher stuff like giving homework, _Professor_?”

Oliver rolled his eyes at him, back to his own self again. “You and your friends are not the only class I teach, Perlman. I do have some annoying third years who have no appreciation for the arts.”

Elio grinned. “So you annoy them back, huh?”

Now Oliver was grinning too. “Exactly.”

There it was again, that warm, heavy feeling of joy in his stomach. Not the hot, bubbling one he always felt when Oliver brushed too close to him. No, this was different. Like the time Oliver had shared his Chinese pavilion prank with him. His mind could come up with as many doubts as it wanted, Elio knew… there was _something_ between them. Oliver liked him. Genuinely.

“I won’t keep you then. Don’t be too hard on the third years, you might make them hate art even more.”

“Are you seriously reminding me of my duties as an educator?”

Elio chuckled at that. He’d already reached the door but turned around now. Oliver trailed after him, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. He looked so effortlessly comfortable in his own skin, Elio envied him.

“I’m sure that if there’s anyone who could convince teenagers of the value of art, it’s you.”

“No shit, Perlman. Keep talking like that and I might come to think you are actually starting to believe in my skills as a real teacher.”

Elio smirked. “Who knows, you keep surprising me. Real homework…” He shook his head. “Start using the literature from the curriculum and I might actually change my mind about you.”

“Never,” Oliver laughed. “Now get out of here and enjoy your Sunday.”

“Right.” Elio opened the door and was about to leave but then he hesitated. “I can come back, right? Next Sunday?”

Oliver, who hadn’t moved an inch, gave him a warm smile. “If you want.”

“Do you though? Do you… want me to come back?”

“Do you see me offering extra classes to anyone else?” Oliver joked, though it didn’t sound half as sarcastic as it had probably been intended to.

Elio ducked his head, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now get out of here. I’ll see you Tuesday in class.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

“Oh, and Elio?”

Elio nearly collided with the frame so quick did he stuck his head back into the classroom. “Yeah?”

“Try and keep this to yourself, right? I can already see the others running in my door if word goes round I’m giving extra classes.”

“I promise I won’t say a word about what we’re doing in here,” Elio said.

Oliver blinked. “Uh, yeah, right. That’s good.”

If Elio had been blushing before, he was flushed pink from head to toe now. He quickly said his goodbyes and shut the door with a bit too much force. Only once he was alone again did he allow himself to breathe. More time with Oliver. Elio leaned his back against the door and exhaled slowly. He was either going to be the luckiest or the most tortured human being on earth. Either way, he was going to make the most of it. Elio pushed himself off the door and started his way back to the seventh floor, a satisfied grin on his lips. If he played this right, he would get his fair share of Oliver from now on. The prospect of spending time in a classroom had never sounded so promising…

 

* * *

 

 

Elio was downright euphoric by the time art history class started on Tuesday. He hadn’t seen much of Oliver over the last two days because the American had been missing most of the meals but Elio didn’t care. He had so many future Sundays with Oliver to dream about he nearly didn’t notice his absence.

“You know you’re kinda scary when you smile so much,” Marzia said when they sat down in their usual spot, being the last ones to arrive.

Elio grinned at her. “What, do you prefer me depressed and brooding?”

“It suits your artsy side much more.”

Elio threw her an amused glance and Marzia giggled.

“Are you two done with your chit chat or do you need another minute?”

Elio’s head shot up to find Oliver standing at the front of the class, his arms crossed in front of his chest and a prominent frown on his forehead. Only now did Elio realize that it was suspiciously quiet around them. Class had already started.

Elio cleared his throat to apologize because Oliver did look much more irritated than Elio would have liked, but Marzia beat him to it.

“Sorry, Oliver, we didn’t hear you come in. We’ll shut up.”

Oliver’s eyes wandered to Elio, as though silently asking him if he too would shut up now, but Elio only stared at him in confusion. What on earth had he done to provoke this level of annoyance in Oliver? Sunday had been good, hadn’t it? Oliver had said himself that he wanted him to come back. Shouldn’t he be happy too? Or if not happy, at least his normal cheerful self?

“Good. Then let’s begin,” Oliver said, directing his attention back at the others.

Elio watched him wander towards his desk and start class with that frown stuck to his face like glue. It didn’t fade, if anything it only got deeper the longer Elio kept staring. Something wasn’t right. There was no trace of the elegance and lightness Oliver usually steered the discussions in class with. Instead he seemed impatient and on edge, interrupting the others’ answers more than once. When he raised his voice at Amanda for no good reason, Elio couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“What the hell is up with him?” He whispered.

Marzia shrugged. “Probably had a bad weekend?”

Elio knew for a fact that Oliver hadn’t had a bad weekend. But maybe yesterday had been bad. Yeah, maybe that was it.

“Do you know if he’s got any classes on Monday?”

Marzia shot him a quizzical look. “How would I know? Do I look like one of those girls who spend day and night drooling over him?”

Elio’s cheeks reddened at that. “No, of course not. Forget about it.”

“He’s probably just having a bad day, he’ll come around. No one’s happy all the time.”

“Yeah,” Elio mumbled, feeling his good mood drop. “Suppose you’re right.”

“Come on.” Marzia nudged him with an elbow. “You’re still his favourite though. Even if he is acting like a douche today.”

Elio huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah, let’s hope so.”

“Oh, so you’ve finally accepted the fact?” Marzia asked and grinned at him. “No longer trying to act all humble and modest about it?”

Elio grinned right back. “You’re just happy I’m acknowledging you were right.”

“Right about what?” Oliver asked loudly, as he stepped in front of their table. “Anything you’d like to share with us, Perlman?”

Elio felt the smile drop from his face and he sighed. A sound that did not go unnoticed by the American.

“No, Professor,” Elio mumbled.

“Then do us all a favour and keep quiet, you two, yeah?”

Marzia rolled her eyes. “Yes, _Sir_ ,” she mumbled under her breath. “We’ll do that once you stop acting like a prick.”

Elio didn’t know whether to openly gape at her or just slump down in his chair and hide. Oliver chose a simpler reaction. Anger.

“If you don’t want to be in my class, why don’t you just get up right now and leave, Marzia,” he snapped.

“Come on,” Elio intervened. “We were just… we’ll be quiet okay? It’s not like you’d throw anyone out of your classes anyway, right?”

He shot him a shy smile, hoping it would resolve the tension Marzia had created. But when Oliver looked back at him, there was no warmth in his eyes.

“I’m your teacher, not your friend. Now get out. Both of you. I’ve had it for today.”

And just like that it happened that Elio was thrown out of one of Oliver’s classes.

Marzia was too pissed off to care. She simply grabbed her bag and rushed out of the classroom without another word, probably glad to be able to leave. But Elio needed a few seconds to wrap his head around the fact that everything had been perfectly fine and then, out of nowhere, he was back to being nothing but another annoying student of Oliver.

His movements were awkward and clumsy when he collected his things and it took him more time than he should have needed. But Elio couldn’t just take after Marzia’s example and storm out of the classroom in anger. It didn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, trying to meet Oliver’s eyes, but quickly looking down again when he found them still glaring at him. “I didn’t mean to…”

To what? Interrupt his class like he’d done hundreds of times already over the past few months? Like he’d done so many times before without ever angering Oliver like this? Elio shouldered his bag and stood.

“I just… I’m sorry.”

He’d never felt so bad leaving this classroom. Nothing of this felt right to him but Elio couldn’t put his finger on what he’d done wrong. The door fell shut behind him with a quiet click that echoed thunder-like in Elio’s head. For a very long minute Elio couldn’t hear a single sound from inside and he almost wondered if he had stepped into a whole different world, when he finally heard Oliver’s deep voice pose a question and the lesson continued. Without Elio.

By the time class ended, every aftermath of Sunday’s happiness was gone and Elio was back to his depressed, brooding self. With his lips turned into a grim line he watched as the others poured out of the classroom, all of them chatting and cheering up in no time once they stepped outside. None of them seemed to care much about Oliver’s bad mood. Elio on the other hand did care.

So he stepped back inside.

Oliver wasn’t around when Elio made his way through the empty classroom. The door to his office was slightly ajar and even though Elio knew that it probably wasn’t a good idea, he climbed the short flight of stairs and entered. He found Oliver standing with his back to the door by the window, his hands in his pockets and seemingly lost in thought. The office itself was a mess. Even more so than usual. Books and papers were scattered all over the floor, some of them wrinkled and torn. A whole board in the shelf was emptied, as though someone had carelessly swept through it and pulled all of the books out. What drew Elio’s gaze though were the chunks of stone lying around on the floor. Broken parts of one formerly whole object. He could still see some forms and shapes in the uneven surfaces but he couldn’t make out what it used to be before it had been broken.

“What happened?”

Oliver tensed, Elio could literally see his shoulders go rigid under his thin sweater, but he didn’t turn around.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to your next class?”

“I still got another five more minutes,” Elio replied. “Professor Longbottom is always late to Herbology.”

“Doesn’t mean you should be late too,” Oliver said and his voice carried the same reproachful tone it had carried earlier in class.

Elio felt his heart sink again. Oliver’s back loomed like an insuperable barrier in front of the window and Elio didn’t know how to approach him. He’d never really seen him this dismissive. Are you alright? What a stupid question. He definitely wasn’t. Is it my fault? Too egocentric. Please, don’t shut me out. Why would Oliver let him in, in the first place?

“What’s going on?” Elio asked quietly.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do. I know I’m just a student, virtually no one, and if you don’t want to talk to me that’s fi-”

“You’re not just no one,” Oliver interrupted him, as though hearing Elio depreciate himself like that hit a nerve in him that reverberated louder than his momentary irritation. He turned around to scowl at Elio. “Listen, I’m sorry I threw you out earlier, okay? But you were disrupting class.”

“No more than usual,” Elio defended himself.

Oliver sighed. “See that you get to class, Perlman.”

“Come on, you know you can talk to me,” Elio pushed on. “I’ve never… you were fine on Sunday, weren’t you? And today… something’s not right.”

“You’re making more out of this than it is. I’m just having a bad day, that’s all.”

“Do you always destroy your office when you’re having a bad day?”

“Well, it’s been a real shitty day, okay?” Oliver exclaimed.

Elio didn’t get it. “But you were fine on Sunday.”

“For fucks sake!” Oliver cried in frustration, his voice one bit away from turning into an angry yell. “Why are you obsessing so much about Sunday?”

Elio blanched. “I’m not! I’m not obsessing about anything! I… I’m definitely not… obsessing! I’m sorry! I… I’ll leave you alone. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Elio nearly stumbled over his own feet so quick did he hurry out of the room. He could hear Oliver call after him but Elio had already reached the classroom door. He felt like crying by the time he arrived at the greenhouses. Yet, at the same time he felt like there was not enough reason for him to be crying and that made him want to cry even more. The longer he listened to Professor Longbottom talk about possible crossbreeds with poison ivy, the harder it got to entangle the mess inside him.

All that he knew for sure was that somehow, he’d managed to make Oliver’s day even worse by being exactly what Oliver had called him out as: an obsessive teenager.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive THANK YOU to everyone who commented, left kudos, remembered this story or read it for the first time!
> 
> You really made my week and gave me the motivation to finish this chapter way faster than planned <3
> 
> So here it is! Making up for the long wait for the last one :) Can't promise the next one will be up as fast, but I'll try my best *_*
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 12

Having lived in Hogwarts for over three months now, Elio had become used to most of the castles peculiar habits. The moving stairs, the restless suits of armour, the ever-changing ceiling in the Great Hall – all of that seemed strange in itself at first, but soon merged into one bigger picture, reflecting the castle’s overall mood. Like a real, living being the castle seemed to be stimulated by everything around and inside it. The worsening weather had just as much impact on the old castle’s behaviour as its many residents. This week, Elio hoped the castle sometimes took its bad mood out on some of those residents.

Oliver for example looked like he could really use a whack on the head by one of the unruly doors on the third floor. Not that Elio wanted to get him hurt, no way, just… set right.

It was Thursday, Elio’s second and last art history class this week, and Oliver was still acting strange. He wasn’t yelling at anyone but he wasn’t joking around either. Instead he was clearly sleepwalking his way through the lecture, losing track of his sentences more than a dozen times and constantly fiddling with that godforsaken pen he didn’t even need. He wasn’t acting irritated like on Tuesday. Instead he looked tired now. Tired and nervous.

Elio loathed that version of Oliver. The American was clearly struggling with something but however many concerned voices of both students and teachers asked him what was wrong, he didn’t open up about it. Whatever it was, he wasn’t dealing with it in the right way and watching him day after day without anything changing frustrated Elio more than he had thought possible. His own nervousness and confusion from Tuesday soon transformed into anger.

Oliver of all should have been the one to know how to deal with things. He was the adult after all, the teacher, the caring man who had helped Elio into the bathroom when he’d gotten sick on Halloween, who had half carried him into his office and who had seen him to bed, like the responsible human being he was. The responsible human being who should fucking know how to work through whatever the fuck was bothering him and who should know how to accept help from others, so he got over it and Elio could finally go back to his happy, daydreaming self. How the fuck was he supposed to feel happy if Oliver wasn’t?

He was acting selfish again, yeah, he knew. But since Oliver hadn’t looked at him once today, Elio felt like it was his right to be selfish. The American was shutting him out, like he was closing off anyone else who asked too many questions about his irritated demeanour. It was getting annoying.

Elio threw the American another glare over his book. That’s right. A book. They were reading. _Reading_. In class. Most of them hadn’t even brought their books because they never needed them which meant they had to huddle together in groups of three or four over one book in order to follow the paragraph Murray was struggling to read out loud. Elio was lucky, Marzia had her book with her, so at least he could keep his seat. The best seat in class from which to glare at Oliver.

Once Murray finished, Oliver started another discussion round, obviously hoping the class would carry itself. Elio was openly scowling at him by now. However bad it was, no personal matter should get in the way of Oliver’s teaching quality. That simply wasn’t an Oliver thing to do.

Elio watched Oliver drop the pen in his hands four more times until class ended and by that time all he’d gotten were a few quick glances, as though Oliver was acknowledging Elio’s staring but didn’t have the strength to deal with them. Elio felt his frustration fade into worry again but he did his best to keep that expression off his face. All he’d get in return would be another annoyed response like on Tuesday.

And so Elio left with the others when class was over. Because Oliver didn’t seem like he’d respond well to another ‘What’s going on, are you okay?’ And Elio hated that. He hated being side lined, not being able to do anything about it when he wanted nothing more than that.

Still, he stuck to watching Oliver from the distance, he watched him during the few meals he showed up to and he watched him on the even fewer occasions he walked pass him on the corridors. None of the forced smiles Oliver threw his way when there was no way to pretend he hadn’t seen Elio reached his eyes. Elio hated it. He hated it because he had no clue where that sudden pressure on Oliver had come from or who was responsible for it. He hated it because he obviously wasn’t as close to the American as he had thought in order to make it somewhat better. He knew Oliver liked him. He knew. But if their confrontation on Tuesday had shown him something then that it didn’t seem to matter much to Oliver. Not in a way that entailed trust at least.

But one thing was for sure. Elio would rather be bitten by a freaking werewolf than give up on Oliver.

So he didn’t. Give up. No, he kept his eyes on Oliver whenever he was in sight and the moment his alarm rung on Sunday, he was up and out of bed, determined to go to his extracurricular class.

Elio knocked this time, feeling a bit unsure of whether his determination wouldn’t come off as too intrusive, like Tuesday. Tuesday… Elio shook his head. He was obsessing again. First it had been Sunday, now it was Tuesday. He really needed to be careful not to overrun Oliver with all his analyses of his behaviour again. He’d seem more creepy than caring and then he really couldn’t blame the American for putting up his defences.

Oliver let him wait. For what felt like ten minutes. Elio didn’t care. He could wait. He would wait the whole hour, till breakfast if he had to. So he just leaned with his shoulder against the door frame and kept knocking every other minute, to remind Oliver he was still there.

When the door finally opened, Oliver looked so put together that there was no way he had overslept or hadn’t heard the first knock. He had been awake. He had been ready.

Elio didn’t move from his position. His arms still crossed in front of his chest and leaning against the frame, he looked up to Oliver.

“Thought I wouldn’t show up?” He asked, trying to keep all accusation out of his voice.

And Oliver surprised him with a brutally honest answer. “Kind of hoped so, yeah.”

Elio felt frustration take over his patience and he uncrossed his arms as he stood his ground. “Well I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Oliver sighed, “I can see that.”

“Gonna uphold that promise you made or did I get up for nothing?”

Elio could see the tiredness behind Oliver’s eyes, could almost feel the hours of missed sleep and suddenly he didn’t like how his own words echoed so mean and demanding in his ears. But for Oliver they seemed to do the trick.

“Fine, let’s do this.”

He didn’t step aside but just turned around and walked back into the classroom, leaving it to Elio to close the door. When Elio followed him, he saw the same material as last weekend already sitting on Oliver’s desk, waiting. As though Oliver had hoped, but not expected Elio to stay away. That gave him at least some form of hope.

“Do you need me to explain it to you again?” Oliver asked over his shoulder. Elio shook his head. “Good, then practice for a few minutes to get warm. I’ll… wait.”

And that was it. No good morning, no small talk, not even the slightest attempt to cover up his emotional exhaustion. Elio felt like he wanted to punch something. Biting his tongue he stepped up to the teacher’s desk and pointed his wand at the wooden block sitting in the middle of it. The small toy soldier from last week was standing right next to it, seemingly mocking Elio with its salute. As Elio watched the wood transform into something that didn’t even remotely resemble the toy figure, he noticed Oliver walk towards the other side of the classroom. Not bothering to wait for the final result of his first try, Elio looked after the American. He was once again drawn to the windows, staring outside with his shoulders and back one big plane of tension. Elio dropped the hand holding his wand to his side.

“Is there nothing I can do?” He asked carefully.

“Practice.”

“Come on, I-”

“Just practice, will you?” Oliver snarled.

Elio swallowed the angry response burning on his tongue and lifted his wand to do just that. There wasn’t much sense to it when both of them were so clearly distracted. Elio knew that and he was sure that Oliver knew too. But none of them said anything about it. So Elio kept going.

At some point Oliver started wandering around the classroom, seemingly not able to stand in one place for too long and it distracted Elio even more than his unusual silence. Elio bit his teeth and tried to focus. He was here for his extra class and he would get it. Only that it had never been about the classes for him. Well, maybe a little bit, but mostly about Oliver.

Oliver.

Always Oliver.

Oliver, who was cleaning a smudge off the blackboard with the sleeve of his sweater. Oliver, who was clasping his hands behind his back only to bring them back to his front and bury them in his pockets. Oliver, who ran his fingers over the stubble on his cheeks as though remembering just now that he had wanted to shave days ago. Oliver, who was quietly mumbling something without realizing as he squinted his eyes to decipher something a student had scribbled down on a table. Oliver, who clearly wanted to do anything but this right now.

Finally, Elio couldn’t take it any longer. With a frustrated sigh he broke the silence. “I suppose I’ll leave.”

Oliver looked up. “What?”

“I suppose I’ll leave,” Elio repeated, annoyed.

“Since when do you give up so easily?”

“Since you stopped caring!” Elio snapped.

Oliver’s face hardened. “What makes you think I don’t care? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“No you’re not!” Elio said. “You’re distracted by whatever it is you don’t want to talk about! Since I’ve stepped into this classroom you haven’t paid any attention to me! How am I supposed to learn anything like that?”

Even to his own ears he sounded like a sulking child but Elio didn’t care because it was true. The Oliver he knew always paid attention to him.

“Well, then leave!” Oliver said, raising his own voice in annoyance. “If you don’t feel up for this, please, leave!”

Elio could only stare in disbelief as Oliver turned his back on him, seemingly heading back to his office but catching a chair with his foot on the way. In his impatience, Oliver kicked it to the side, involuntarily sending it flying into a nearby table.

“Fuck me,” Oliver cursed.

For a long minute he just stared at the chair then he rubbed a hand over his face and walked back to pick it up. The silence that followed was more awkward and uncomfortable than anything else Elio had ever experienced in Oliver’s presence before. He didn’t turn around to laugh it off, he didn’t continue on his way to his office either. Elio was so lost.

“Will you just talk to me?” Elio whispered.

The way he said it suggested a level of trust and intimacy between them that Elio knew did not exist. Not in reality. But in his head, in his dreams it did. And he was too worried about Oliver to let reality keep him from asking. He cared about Oliver, with all his heart. And Oliver sent him flying with all his heart, when he answered:

“It’s none of your business.”

Elio hated the power Oliver’s cold dismissal held over his heart. He hated it so much that he was able to fight back the hurt and replace it with anger. Hot, boiling anger.

“Well, I guess then it’s also none of your business if I drop this class, huh? Because this right here? This sucks! So, come on! Why don’t you just pull yourself together and let me help you?”

“What makes you think you could help me?” Oliver growled.

“You helped me when I was down!” Elio said, not bothering to hide how worked up he was getting over this. “You took me out to the lake to get me out of my head when you didn’t have to and it _helped_. I know I’m not just another student of yours! You care about me! And that’s what people do, isn’t it? Care about each other? I know you like me, so why don’t you trust me enough to just talk to me?”

“I don’t…” Oliver stopped himself before he rushed into something that had clearly been a defensive reply and rephrased it, continuing slowly. “I _do_ like you, Perlman. But this is of no concern to you. And if I remember correctly, you didn’t tell me either what bothered you that day.”

“I… that wasn’t important! I still tagged along! I didn’t act like a complete asshole when you wanted to help me!”

Oliver’s mouth formed a grim line. “I think you are letting these extra lessons get to your head, Perlman. You are crossing a line here. I’m still your teacher and-”

“And what, you’re gonna throw me out again, because I called you an asshole once?”

“Twice, now,” Oliver pressed from between clenched teeth. “I’m really starting to doubt whether this was a good idea.”

Elio gaped at him. “What?”

“I don’t know what you think this is, Perlman. But you are just one of my students. This… it’s not… I’m not playing favourites here.”

“Favourites?” Elio repeated in disbelief. “Favourites? I thought I was here because you _told_ me that I had the potential to make more out of myself! I thought I was here, because you _cared_ about me and my talent! But yeah, why should you care? You don’t even care that there are at least two dozens of teachers and students who are worried about you. But yeah, let’s just worry everyone with your fucking mood swings and act like an asshole because you’re a _teacher_ after all.”

He was yelling by the time he’d finished and from the way Oliver stared at him he was definitely making it worse.

“You do not talk to me like that,” Oliver hissed. “I’m not your friend, I’m your teacher and you will show me more respect. I can no longer tolerate all of your childish behaviours here and in class!”

“Childish? When did I ever act childish?”

“When did you ever…? Really? You’re acting like one right now! Acting like you can ask me all these questions, like you can talk to me the way you do, like… I don’t even know what you’re thinking! I’m not… you’re not…”

“I want to know what’s up with you!” Elio shouted. “How is that in any way childish? I want to know what the fuck is wrong with you! And for your information, I’m seventeen! I’m not just a kid you can push around however you-”

“BUT YOU ARE!” Oliver thundered. “You are just a kid! And this… whatever you think this is… it’s not working for me!”

“What? So… this is my fault now? How the fuck is any of this my fault? What did I do? YOU were the one who suggested these classes! I explicitly asked you last week if you wanted me to come back and you said yes, don’t you remember? I don’t get why you would change your mind! It’s not like I’ve been prancing around, acting like I’m your favourite student or anything! I’ve done nothing like that! I didn’t say a word to anyone, not even to Marzia, just like you asked! I don’t get why you’re acting so annoyed by me! Like… like you’re disappointed in me or something.”

Elio could feel the tears at the back of his eyes but he was too angry to allow them to well up.

“You told me you believed in me! You said I had potential! What did I do to change your mind? How is this… how is this all my fault?”

Oliver was white as a sheet when Elio fell silent, his voice breaking at the end despite his best efforts to keep it angry. Elio could already see the regret form in his eyes and he knew it was because he had just spilled out his heart and all of his fears with it. He furiously wiped his hand over his eyes but he knew it was of no use, the tears would come and they would make him seem weak and emotional once again. Abruptly he turned around and stomped over to the door.

“Elio-”

“No, forget it. I’m out.”

“Elio!”

He could hear Oliver chase after him and knowing that the American would catch up with him in no time, he whirled around to stop him before he could lay a single finger on his skin.

“I don’t care if you’re my teacher,” he spat. “You’re an asshole. And I’m not… I’m not fucking sad, okay? I’m fucking pissed. I’m pissed and furious and angry and… and disappointed and you know what, you were right. These classes were a bad idea. I can promise you that much. You won’t see me again on Sundays. Teacher or not, you can bite my ass.”

* * *

 

Elio was tempted to skip the whole next week of classes. Oh, and how tempted he was. He’d cried once he’d gotten back to the dormitory because it had been inevitable, but the moment the tears had dried, his anger had returned with double the force. And he welcomed it. Being angry at Oliver was way better than worrying over him. He’d always known that the American was more concerned with his own feelings than with the wellbeing of others. Miss Hughes sure had a thing to say about it or two.

Elio clenched his fists at the thought. He couldn’t believe his own naivety. He’d fucking watched Oliver do it to Miss Hughes. He’d witnessed it from beginning to end, how Oliver treated people who got close to him. How he smiled at them with his million watt smile and then, one day, just dropped them. Just like that. Elio hadn’t thought he’d gotten close enough to run that same danger. Apparently he’d been wrong.

And the worst of it was he didn’t get why.

Sunday had been good. Tuesday had been bad.

Somewhere in between Oliver must have had some kind of epiphany that told him Elio wasn’t good for him. But why? What on earth was wrong with extracurricular classes? How was he favouring Elio in any way by fostering his talent? What was wrong with that?

Shaking his head, Elio pulled another cigarette from the pack in his lap and lightened it. It was the third one and he desperately needed it. Art history had started forty-eight minutes ago. Holding the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds, Elio looked around the Owlery. Most of the birds were sleeping in their small caves, worried by nothing, not even the cold December wind. Elio exhaled slowly and stared at Pilgrim’s empty spot. The owl should be back any day now, probably struggling right now to carry the heavy weight of what Elio had asked his parents to send him so many weeks ago, when he’d been in his by Oliver induced daze of happiness. Elio felt so stupid.

The things you do for love. Only that it wasn’t love. It was a sick obsession. An obsession that still wouldn’t leave him, even now, that he sat here, skipping art history and still angry at Oliver. No, he was still obsessed with the American. However angry Elio was at him, his mind still tried to reason with Oliver’s behaviour, trying to tell Elio that he was simply missing an important detail. That he was not seeing the bigger picture.

“Doesn’t make up for his behaviour, though,” Elio mumbled to himself.

That was right, he thought. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t make up for the way Oliver had first liked him, then ignored him and then shouted at him. Oliver might have tried to tell him that Elio was the one who was manipulating the boundaries between teacher and student but the way Oliver had treated him hadn’t been professional in the least. What did he want anyway? He’d never acted like a normal teacher before. He was close to most of Elio’s other classmates. He’d played a fucking drinking game with them in Hogsmeade, for fuck’s sake! How was the banter between him and Elio any different?

“Because I got a fucking crush on him,” Elio sighed.

He flicked the barely smoked cigarette out of the glassless window and watched it disappear down the deep drop outside the castle’s walls. The truth was, Elio didn’t know any longer what to believe. Not so long ago had he waited outside of Oliver’s classroom, promising himself he wouldn’t give up on Oliver. And he still didn’t want to.

Elio put his arms on the window sill and rested his chin on his folded hands, searching the distant horizon for Pilgrim and waiting for art history to end, so he could go to Defence against the Dark Arts. The truth was also that he was tired. Very tired, as though Oliver’s exhaustion had somehow leapt over to him. The strange thing about that was that the thought of taking over some of Oliver’s fatigue made him feel satisfied, in a calm and tired kind of way.

* * *

 

Elio skipped two more classes of art history before Marzia dragged him back to the course. She didn’t know what was going on with him and she didn’t bother to ask. She probably had made her own assumptions and just decided to give Elio some space before her patience ran up. And today was that day. Elio didn’t really want to go but he also knew he couldn’t stay away for much longer. He’d only seem like a whiny child, off to sulk in its room, not strong enough to deal with its problems. He would have been strong enough to come back earlier. But the thought of Oliver’s guilty eyes searching his empty place in class had filled him with a warm feeling of satisfaction. And the fact that Oliver had in no way reported him skipping class confirmed Elio’s belief that the American was indeed feeling guilty.

Good. Maybe that would make him come to his senses. Maybe that would finally make him talk.

With that in mind Elio did not expect what awaited him when he stepped into class this morning.

“Books out, wands away. Who can tell me what chapter you’ve been working on last?”

“What are you doing here?” Elio asked, before he could stop himself.

A few of his classmates turned in their seat to look at him. Elio didn’t mind them, his eyes were fixed on Miss Hughes who was standing behind Oliver’s desk, holding an art history book in her hand.

“I’m your substitute teacher for today,” she explained.

“Where is Oliver?” Marzia asked next to him.

“Oh, haven’t you heard? He’s in the hospital wing,” Miss Hughes said, sounding not at all worried. “He’s had some kind of incident at the Greenhouses yesterday. Madam Pompfrey said it might take a week or two for him to heal, so I’ll take over your class for now. If you would be so kind to sit down now, Mr. Perlman? Miss Lamarque?”

“What happened?” Elio asked.

Suddenly his heart was beating so fast as though he should be running but he couldn’t move an inch.

“Like I said, he’s had an incident at the Greenhouses. No need to worry, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Now please take a seat. I’d like to start class.”

Marzia had to drag him to his seat and even then Elio didn’t bother with unpacking his bag or getting ready for class. Oliver was in the hospital wing. Oliver was hurt. Elio clenched his fists under the table. After the last two weeks that fact shouldn’t have hit him the way it did but there was no stopping it. His heart was racing with rising panic. Was he okay? How bad was he hurt? Was he conscious? Was he in pain? The thought of Oliver being in pain, groaning in agony as he was trashing around in a white hospital bed made Elio feel sick. How bad was it? Miss Hughes had said it might take a week or two. How bad was it, if it couldn’t be healed with magic in a day?

Elio was so worried he missed the first five minutes of Miss Hughes introduction to class. Only when Miss Hughes chuckled, _chuckled_ while Oliver was lying in a hospital bed three stories beneath them, did Elio snap out of his thoughts.

“He really hasn’t used any of this, has he?”

Shaking her head she put down the book she had been reading from and leaned back against the desk. Oliver’s desk. Her perfectly manicured fingernails seemed to dig deep into the old wood when her hands closed around the edge of the table.

“Can anyone tell me anything about the things you’ve learned so far? Anything? About the New Wave of Magical Realism? The big six of the Red Era? The Mergence of European Muggle Themes with Wizarding Art in the Fifties? Anyone?”

“We haven’t really concentrated on epochs so much,” Amanda said. “We’ve been more… you know, discussing this and that.”

“This and that?” Miss Hughes repeated and an amused smile formed on her face. “Really. And what in specific?”

“Whatever Oliver deemed interesting,” Marzia chipped in. “No focus on particular cultures or centuries. Just art form all over the world. Both muggle and wizarding world. It’s actually rather nice to not just focus on European art for once. We’ve learned a lot from him over the last-”

“Whatever Oliver deemed interesting…”

Elio felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand at the way Miss Hughes interrupted Marzia and kept repeating their answers, as though she couldn’t get enough of them. She was feeding off this, he realised, and she was more than just amused by Oliver’s teaching techniques. She was getting off on this. She was bathing in silent triumph.

Elio slowly straightened in his seat as he focused all of his attention on the petite woman who was leaning against Oliver’s desk as if she had just conquered a throne. Something inside Elio started to grow very, very hot, pumping through his veins with every quickened heart beat until it was racing through his veins like boiling acid.

“…should have probably expected this. You do realize that he is no real professor, right? He’s not even a real teacher but I guess you’ve all come to notice that by now. While he is only standing in for Professor Belmor, I’m sure even Headmistress McGonagall had expected more of-”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Elio interrupted her, his voice shaking. He was trying to remain calm, he really was. But the way she kept talking about Oliver made his teeth hurt as if he’d bitten into a sour lemon and swallowed it whole. All eyes turned to him, but Elio didn’t care. “Oliver is not bothering with the books because art is not about the books. Oliver is the best teacher we’ve ever had,” he forced out. “The best.”

“Oh, my dear. You don’t know what you’re saying. He-”

“He’s a fucking genius,” Elio interrupted her. “He’s not just another mindless part of your institutionalised system, you’re right. He’s much better than that. Because in comparison to teachers like you, he actually cares about his students. He doesn’t just dictate us what the books know about art, he-”

“He breaks every convention the school has put carefully in place to ensure the best learning quality for you students,” Miss Hughes said, smiling sickly sweet. “I’m sure you couldn’t tell me a single thing about the Red Era?”

“I could count off every fucking painting of that era if that would make you happy,” Elio spat.

“I think it would be much more rewarding if you would hold back on all that cussing and show me some respect, Mr. Perlman. Fifteen points from Gryffindor and detention for the rest of the week. Now, let’s see what we can do about that education of yours. I suggest we start with… chapter one.”

Elio didn’t know how he got through that lesson. He’d never been so close to jumping someone’s throat before. That wasn’t him. He didn’t think about hitting people and gorging their eyes out. But oh how close did he come to doing just that today.

“Man, you were amazing!” Murray laughed once they stepped out of class.

Marzia of course was less than impressed. “He nearly risked getting thrown out of class, got himself detention and he cost us fifteen points.”

“Oh, shut it, Marzia,” Murray said and threw an arm around Elio’s shoulders. “He finally showed why he’s a Gryffindor! Standing up for Oliver like that? Man, you do have some guts!”

Elio didn’t listen to anything his friends said. “Does anyone know what happened to Oliver?”

No one knew but at least they all agreed on one thing: they had to visit him the moment classes were over.

And for that Elio was more than thankful to them. He didn’t know if he had the strength to see all by himself how bad of a condition Oliver was in. He didn’t know if he had the strength to restrain his reaction when he finally saw Oliver lying hurt and suffering in a hospital bed. Because however much of an idiot the American was, he was Elios’ idiot. Even if just in his head.

 

 


End file.
